The Ascension of the Twelve: Second Gathering
by jenskott
Summary: After of the Gathering of the Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically without anybody realizing. What has happened and who is the responsible? Can the XMen wa
1. Default Chapter

*********************************************************************************

The Ascension of the Twelve: Second Gathering

Author: Jenskott

Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What has happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop it and reassert the timeline in its path?

Notes: This is a tale was a long time cooking in my head. It was meant to be a one-shot, but when I saw how long it was becoming, I decided split it in several parts. I have the entire story written, but I'll post each part only when there be reviews. 

Continuity: Comic.

Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.

Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.

*********************************************************************************

Part One-

Eyes snapped open with a start, and his heavy body lurched forward.

Scott led a frantic hand to his forehead, touching gingerly the sweaty and clammy skin. As he struggled to regain his breath, his eyes drifted wildly from one to other side of the bedroom, perusing fearfully his bearings. The raven and murky shadows kept surrounding him, engulfing him. The darkness of the bowels of the night was thick and impenetrable except for the dull red glow was emanating out of his blue eyes.

He massaged his bare eyelids, noting idly he would never get used wholly to the free sensation of his face naked and stripped of ruby quartz, and inhaled heavy intakes of air. He waited while the ragged and shuddering gasps of his lips quiet down the bout of shivering cramps his body trembled with. Shivers had nothing to do with the chilled, frosty weather of Alaska.

Christ, what nightmare. It was awful.

Yet his brain denied recalling it. With the coming of the awareness it had vanished in a vague fog, just like a crust of ice with the warm sunlight, and he couldn't now remember what had scared him so awfully and immensely. Or maybe he didn't want. It was what Jean called automatic defenses of the brain. Shut down when some memory, emotion or event is too strong to bear, and lock it away of the conscious thought was a perfectly natural process.

And he was definitively scared of it. He couldn't dwell on it, and his instincts screamed he didn't.

But it puzzled him, and he was too stubborn to just giving up. He furrowed his brows in intense focusing, and pondered in it, diving in his intermingled remembrances of the bad dream, descending as far as the bottom of his mind, where scattered fragments lie. Slowly he began to piece something together. A blurry outline started to condense inside his head.

A round, blue face stared at him, smirking. The large red eye on its center glimmered malevolently.

He opened again his eyes abruptly, as the start, the panic and the anguish washed away swiftly the disturbing picture, until every glimpse of it had vanished without one trace, along with the remembrance. And then came the oblivion. Only the dread gripping his chest and stabbing spikes of icy horror stayed.

From the corner of his right eye, his pupil caught a glimpse of movement, and he watched ruefully to the slumped shape of his wife stirring awake. Jean shook her dizzy head to recover her senses and looked up and to him. After of a groan of resignation, she pulled her half of the pillow over her head.

Scott felt to himself guilty while saw her getting up and letting slide down the snow-white cotton sheets, the thick wool blanket and the quilt. She had to have felt along the psilink flashes of his stark concern and raw horror, so strong and overwhelming they had awoken her. Still he couldn't help observe with lustful, greedy glances the way her pajamas clung to her sinuous and slender body, and the cute way she mussed her ruffled orange hair. The dim glitter of red luminescence dazzling on his ocular globes lit her young self with a mesmerizing glow.

Hank's theory was correct. His eyesight was really sharper in the darkness.

She ended up fixing her locks and glanced tenderly at him, moving one hand to stroke soothingly his cheek. "Any trouble, honey?"

"Bad dreams" He stated plainly. The elaborate truth was bad, hectic and frightening dreams had rendered him deeply upset. "Nothing you ought to get worried for" Scott smiled with his infamous cocky expression and he wished it was convincing and reassuring. "Besides, the gorgeous teacher of the Anchorage primary school needs her beauty sleep. Or those kids can sneak in her else."

His fingers traced smoothly the inklings of bags under her eyes. She swatted playfully his hand aside, and smirked. "But you need sleep too. What will the people think in your job else?"

He shrugged. "I'm punctual, diligent, hard-working, reliable and grandson of the owners of the company. I think they can cope with lacking of sleep or sleeping in." Scott shut up once said that. The bantering mood sounded hollow and dead on his lips. Thousand thoughts churned within his skull, and Scott was helpless to verbalize properly his emotions.

"I'm scared of the darkness." He said finally, gazing piercingly to Jean and simultaneously letting his feelings leaking and flowing across the mindlink. Someone else perhaps would laugh with that sentence, but he knew Jean would understand. She always did.

She did. Jean wrapped an arm around his back and motioned him to seat him on her lap. Her free hand caught softly his fingers, and without letting go his hand, she gripped his shoulder. Inwardly she was basking in his tumultuous, shaky feelings and deciphering them with the easiness of the experience.

"Me too." She mused, resting her head on his flat chest and stared at the cloak of murky darkness. She bore with her sparkling green eyes the hollow and bottomless shadows of blackness enveloping them. If she held her eyesight enough time, the shades looked spread theirs tendrils towards them to snatch them and strangle them. The atmosphere was heavy, polluted, thick, dense, choking.

"Sometimes I get scared of them myself. I'm afraid they take you away of me." She completed.

He nodded, cuddling her tightly. "Yes." He grabbed the covers and draped them around both of their bodies. A lame protection, a barrier, or a shelter against the shadows circling them. Hostile shadows concealing fearsome secrets. "I... have dreams. Nightmares in reality. I don't remember them, but... they aren't nice."

Jean stalled time before answering. "Do you want I help you to remember?"

"No." He stuttered nervously. "I-I don't know why... But I feel it's better if I don't remember anything. I don't want remembering, knowing or finding out. Maybe I mustn't. I'm scared of it. My brain denies to see it, and when I try to clear my head, it blacks out."

She nodded quietly. "One automatic defense, I see. Whatever it is, it must be awful."

He said nothing. Still she had one very good idea of the conflictive thoughts and doubts dueling into his mind.

"Whether it is bothering you so much, or getting such worried, perhaps you should..." She hesitated before continuing "Call to the mansion. Maybe the Pro... Charles can explain the reason."

While she proposed that plan, she failed in concealing the agitated and scared quiver had shaken her body. Scott didn't miss it, as well as didn't miss the lowering of her head. He was sure she was drilling holes on the floorboards right now, and she'd be hunched and embracing forlornly her legs if she wasn't holding him.

She would never admit or say aloud anything, but the truth was the X-Men frightened her very much for some reason. They had stayed away of the X-Men since the debacle on Muir Island and the defeat of the Shadow King, when the teams of X-Men and X-Factor merged and they quitted active duty. During all these years they had kept in touch with their best friends like Warren, Hank, Bobby or Ororo, but they had never returned, and barely had talked with the Professor or with someone of the new team for that matter.

There was something in the prospect of returning to the team that she couldn't bear, even though it was to greet or see again to their friends. She would never spell it in words, complain bitterly, confess her reticence, or explain her troubles, but they were psi-linked, and moreover he knew her too well. And whenever he came up with the possibility of going to Westchester, or suggested go to help with some specific emergency, she got unsettled, her mood dropped and she walked with a downcast and even distraught pace. And whenever they talked about the Professor... he didn't wish dwelling on it, but there was something lurking on her eyes. Reluctance, remorse and fear, but also a spark of disgust, fury and resentment. He was hugely confused for it, and repeated again and again it couldn't be right.

And he didn't manage understand that puzzle. He didn't remember anything happening among them provoked that cold anger and that seething rancor. But in spite of she never talked about the Professor with contempt, neither told anything slandering or outrageous about him, Jean burnt and basked in it. However she never acknowledged any trouble and never protested or begged they remained far from everyone, secluded in their private world. So he used to oblige her anyway to not get her upset.

Who was he to whine or pry into after all, when she never did it, and he owed her his happiness and his sight?

"No, I would rather not bother to Charles with this" He mouthed at last. Like always the possibility of turning to their old mentor was brought up and rejected, her stiff stance loosened at once, her repressed tremors vanished and he felt elation beaming in her head. Why was she so troubled for and loath to it? "Actually I prefer you use your telepathy to calm me down. I mean, if you want. It feels better."

He didn't tell he liked she did that, albeit Jean might guess easily. Her redhead wife smiled and placed a solicitous hand on his bulged temples. "Thanks for your trust, honey. I shall do it all better right now."

Her fingers were glowing with humming energy psychic, a flare of rose hue licking his forehead and sweeping along its damp surface, when the door slammed open. On the threshold stood a figure with its face darkened, giving its back to the light the lamp cast from the passage.

"Dad, mom, I'm thirsty." The young boy leaning on the doorjamb whined.

"You know where the kitchen and the glasses are, darling" His mother stated. "And you are a big boy. You can perfectly-"

"Yes, and I come from there" the seven-year old Nathan Christopher Charles Summers yawned. "But I'm cold."

"Then take other blanket, Nate." His father sputtered. "Have you forgotten which is the drawer? The covers are in-"

"I remember the drawer. The trouble is when I got one, the noises woke up to Ray, and she doesn't want sleep now." The unmistakable shrill of a four-year toddler echoed on the corridor. "What have I to do?"

Both spouses slapped both of their temples in frustration.

Kids.

*********************************************************************************

INTERLUDE

Shiro Yoshida had been the first. And was insulting the facility of his capture.

Since his first apparition in Washington and his temporary allegiance to the X-Men, he had intervened in less than a dozen of affairs. He was the one kept to himself always apart, always self-excluded of any ordeal the mutants faced, glad of protecting his country and no bothered by the foreign affairs. That attitude of careless and egotistical dropout he nurtured so gleefully was his downfall at the end.

With all his immense power, atomic fire capable of obliterating cities, he wasn't match. He was easily overpowered and defeated, and when he fell, neither of the X-Men noticed. Sunfire wasn't missed.

*********************************************************************************

Final Notes: Surprised? Scott and Jean retired and living in Alaska. Cyclops controlling his beams and Jean using her teacher degree -she HAS one-. Nathan without T-O virus and a toddler Rachel. What is going on and what has happened to the remainder X-Men? All has his motive. Stay tuned to the next part.


	2. Part Two

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Ascension of The Twelve: Second Gathering  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: Thanks for the reviews! Effectively, Jean is scared of Onslaught and the Xavier's feelings, but there's more to it than that. The motives of her fear have more to do with Scott than with her. When I explain them you'll understand why Scott doesn't need shades and other differences such like Nathan and Rachel. By the way, despite of the appearances this series is NOT an AU. The interludes happen in CANNON comic. Confused? All will make full sense at the end. Pay attention to the interludes. They are crucial to understand the plot.  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Two-  
  
The East lightened up with the red and orange and golden of the dawn. The city was awakening.  
  
Elisabeth Braddock gazed quietly the sunrise on New York, standing up lazily on the verandah.  
  
The rising disc of color emerged high and proud between the skyscrapers and the murky and dim shadows retreated away its frightening light, vanishing in the morning. The thousands of bright hues of color between sanguine red and amber yellow were cut, refracted and altered with the thick smog, crafting an odd and pretty rainbow. It was an awesome, beautiful show, especially when the beams spiraled and sneaked among the buildings, but Betsy wasn't feeling any placidity or contentment of heart in the least. Neither she felt warmed when the early sunlight of the dawn stroked her body and fidgeted with her braid.  
  
She was feeling cold, standing on the railing with the arms crossed, willing get a heat she didn't feel.  
  
A muffled noise of the sliding door opening disrupted the quietude and heralded the newcomer to the balcony. Strong hands roamed up and down her arms with the gentleness of who is touching a valuable china doll with fear of shattering the figure if it was grabbed with too much strength or roughness. She could feel to few inches of her the broad and hard chest swelling and lowering, and each corner of her eyes caught a glimpse of sharp metallic wings flanking her, glinting with the daybreak.  
  
"Warren, please-" She began, but her voice was cut off when the presence withdrew, giving her a wider berth.  
  
"I'm sorry" He breathed, and his voice sounded apologetic and noncommittal. "I don't want intruding. Or pressing. Or bothering. Or anything wrong."  
  
She hated with passion that dismal and bleak tone, and she hated even more it sounded with such grief for her blame.  
  
"You don't bother me. No now or never." She stated, whirling around with parsimony. "But as long as I am getting this straight, I need my space. And time. I'm sorry."  
  
"I know." He muttered sadly.  
  
"Don't give me the sorrowful puppy face, Warren" She remarked. "I need make up my mind, choose what I want doing with my life and our relationship before advancing any further."  
  
"I know. And I understand. I can wait." He said staring straight at her eyes. He held her piercing stare. She was pretty with her purple, bright eyes and her smooth face, lacking of any blemish, mark, mole or freckle.  
  
He wondered idly why he should find strange her face was so immaculate and her skin so flawless.  
  
"I know you promised me wait for it." She sighed. "But I don't wish stringing you along, or you waste your time with me." She went on before he protested. "I'd lie if I said I don't love you, Warren, but... You want and deserve a stable relationship, settle and get married and get children with one person who love you and appraise. I don't want this ending, but I'm not if I'm ready to a commitment. And if I can't give you what you want, then I'm not the woman you need or deserve. For that I need you permit me make a choice, time to decide and space to breathe. On the contrary, you won't know if I chose you out of love or out of pressure."  
  
He sighed. All of it sounded perfectly logical, yes. Too logical. "I'll wait." He repeated, tireless.  
  
"You haven't to do it" She shook her pretty head, her long mane of hair flapping behind as a shadow.  
  
"I know. But I want." Warren walked forward, daring to a short embrace. Barely a brush of his muscles on both of her arms, an ephemeral link of bodies. Before Betsy protested, Archangel ended up the hug, parting physically theirs bodies. Warren took a moment to notice of the cool air filling the empty space between them and beat a hasty retreat into of the attic. While he scampered inside of the house he reflected in the warmth he had felt when they touched and the stinging coldness when they were separated. He really wished this relationship didn't end up disaster like his former ones.  
  
Warren Kenneth Worthington The Third. Rich and hedonistic playboy multimillionaire. What a laugh. He'd change lives with Scott or Hank or Bobby at any given moment. He longed human warmth and love to fill the inward hollowness he felt within him, important things money would never be able give him.  
  
The door of transparent glass slammed closed, leaving to Psylocke alone again with her thoughts.  
  
Alone to cherish and bask in the truthful love and affect and devotion Warren was offering her freely. Alone to struggle against her urges of taking it. Alone to question her own worth.  
  
She loved and wanted to Warren. Badly. But she wasn't sure of if he didn't deserve better. Perhaps she should be fair and let him go. Perhaps it would be better for both.  
  
Or perhaps she was lying to herself and was a bloody coward. Piotr also thought he ought to break off with Kitty and let her go, and it turned out to be the worst mistake of his life, one without turn back.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
The next had been Magneto. Erik Magnus Lensherr, Master of the Magnetism. Incredibly powerful super-villain, contender to ruler of the world, and expert in lengthy demagogic speeches. His management and brandishing of sheer magnetic power wasn't overmatched or challenged for anybody.  
  
In reality he was one prey relatively easy, too overconfident in his own formidable might and he fear it produced. A servant knocked out and locked away served of proverbial Horse of Troy. Sleeping pills on the food, a collar inhibitor fastened around his neck when he was slumbering, and a swift and discreet runaway was all it took to get him in the clutches of his fate.  
  
****************************************************************************************  
  
Betsy is alive and without traces of the Crimson Dawn. Warren is Archangel still. They are together and without trace of Thunderbird, although their romance is strained with doubts. What has could happen to them?  
  
In the next part we find out what has happened with Gambit and Rogue. And in the next interlude we see the fate of other of The Twelve. 


	3. Part Three

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Ascensión of The Twelve: Second Gathering  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: You are getting me blushing, folks. Thank very much for the reviews. Keep on writing them, they are my drive. By the way: this is NOT AU. If you want a hint of the changes read again the first chapter of Ages Of Apocalypse. What had happened to the people?  
  
This part is dedicated to who think Marvel spoiled badly the things with Rogue and Gambit.  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Three-  
  
Massive chandeliers crafted of bejeweled beads of glass dangled quietly from the high dome of the private pavilion, spreading the dazzling light of their lamps everywhere. Iridescent light beams titillated and danced on the walls. Chords of classic music were played on the background, assembling a vibrant and colorful melody. Expensive paintings hung among the columns and arcs of the walls, with portraits whose faces seemed watching silently the gathering of people. Individuals and items danced carelessly, nibbling the food of the tables with merry voracity or chattering in mellow conversations, deliberately indefinite and trivial. Every of them were doing an extra effort that night to be tactful, polite and uncommitted.  
  
The splendid ball held in that building was strictly private. Of course no one aware of the attendants would THINK even about trespass the threshold. The unlucky soul would be awfully slaughtered in matter of minutes of very painful ways, and nobody would find ever the corpse. And no policeman, brave and righteous or coward and corrupt, would dare to investigate the disappearance. Nobody messed in New Orleans with Guild business.  
  
Even though the treaty of peace had finished up, theoretically at least, with the war between Thieves and Assassins, it had established a protocol to smooth out the conflicts and guarantee the peace. And albeit both sides were delightfully satisfied of avoiding mutually for the most part of the time, there were periodical reunions established to ease tensions. Or release them.  
  
Right now the members of the New Orleans underground were drawn in observing the greeting between the Guildmaster of the Thieves and his wife with the Guildmaster of the Assassins. Such moments used to be always the highlight of the reunions.  
  
The blonde and aloof woman was the absolute ruler of the Assassins shook hands with the brown-haired, charming Leader of Thieves, who led at her an alluring, winning smile that she reciprocated. Straight after she turned to his wife with a tight expression tried in vain to conceal her surly displeasure. They shook their hands, glove grazing skin.  
  
"Well, Marie" She voiced soothingly. "You seem even younger than the last time we had the pleasure of conversing."  
  
"Thanks very much, Belladonna" Rogue answered, really trying not sounding tart. She wasn't succeeding. "On the other hand you don't... I mean you seem so young and beautiful like always." She mumbled hurriedly, trying cover up her barb.  
  
A muffled snicker rippled along the crowd.  
  
Gambit rolled up his black-on-red eyes. He often wondered to himself why he allowed his wife his and ex-wife coincided in the same room, when they barely coexisted in the same planet. Idly Remy laid his red eyes on the fresco painted on the vault, a luminous and colorful Heaven's landscape with grim archangels flanking to God, and young and smiling cherubs and seraphs dancing amidst the clouds, rotating around of him. Gambit observed approvingly that the artist had managed somehow give to God a stern and ominous countenance at the same time as tender and caring eyes. He locked stares with the Almighty's depiction and asked mentally -or rather he implored- whether he would survive today or not.  
  
Meanwhile a war of wills was being waged.  
  
"You and your husband seem get an excellent health state. Tell me, Rogue, is he so good in the bed as I recall?"  
  
Rogue raised infinitesimally one slender maroon brow. "I don't know, Belle. Are you so good as I remember?"  
  
"EXCUSE ME?"  
  
"Oh, don't let my words get you upset. It is the simplicity itself. The first time I absorbed him I stole all his memories, including his relationship with you, with all it implies. So I've virtually fucked you."  
  
Belladonna shot a heated, burning glare capable of melting metal and drilling holes through titanium layers. Rogue didn't let it impressed her or bothered her. She knew a man who could pierce mountains or pulverize adamantium with one leer. And a woman capable of slicing a strut with beams of solid light.  
  
"And do you know the best part?" She pressed, on behalf of being obnoxious. A part of her pleaded her stop there and then, but Rogue stomped it firmly. She was enjoying hugely being petty and mean; and only for once she wanted give free rein to her naughty and bitchy inward child. "When he was screwing you, he tuned in your emotions with his empathy to know what it was like from your side, so I know also what you felt when you reached the climax. And my, I was burning and blistering with seething jealous. Therefore I snatched to Remy, dragged him to our king-sized bed and didn't stop until I had squeezed and wrung every drop of sperm out of him."  
  
The smirk of Rogue was positively gloating and spiteful, retaliating with it the bristling, baleful leer Belladonna was hurling her. Inwardly she was bubbling in delight. Belladonna was often so uptight and stuck-up was very funny get her angry. Unhealthy and hardly recommendable, but funny nonetheless. If the mindless suicidal who provoked her survived to the feat, of course.  
  
On the other hand Gambit wasn't finding the exchange so amusing. No amusing at all. The Cajun thief whimpered, bringing his hands to his head and covering it. Yes, he was slated to die there and today.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
Poor Polaris.  
  
Poor, maddened, altered thing. Tossed around for the events; warped, screwed and twisted beyond of the repair; used, abused and discarded hundreds of times as a dirty and tattered rag doll. She had been raped in mind and body, brainwashed and mindwiped by madmen to their schemes of domination or plots of genocide. Her self had been exploited and vexed until she knew no longer who or what she was, until her sanity gave in once and for all. Lorna Dane had been damaged in body, mind and soul, squeezed out until give all she had, until there was no more left to give.  
  
And there wasn't turn back.  
  
Or maybe yes.  
  
She was a writhing heap on the floor when was found. In certain sense she reminded of Ophelia: as ill minded as ill-minded looked Hamlet, teetering on the verge of a cliff until she plunged to her death on the river flowing below. Like the heroine of the Shakespearean tragedy, the death had to be a release of the life to Lorna.  
  
And in other sense, kidnap to that woman and lock her away was doing a good and merciful deed.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
In the fourth part another pair reflects about what could have been withouth knowing it was; and in the interlude the plot thickens and advances its next step towards the climax. 


	4. Part Four

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: Thanks for the reviews but my egos is a bottomless pit, hungry for comments. I want more!  
  
Before beginning I'll warn radical worshippers of the Alex/Annie pair must be disarmed in the entrance, please.  
  
The interlude of the third part and this chapter may turn out to be confusing to who hasn't understood yet the story, so I'll explain it more clearly: I don't label this story like an AU because the interludes happen in comic cannon, although the rest of the chapters technically would be AU. But the cannon differences (Scott without shades, TO-less Nate, toddler Rachel, Betsy alive, Gambit and Rogue married) are due to the events of the interludes. The series is fully planned and I assure everything will be explained and make sense at the end. I'll repeat again the hint of the 'Ages of Apocalypse': 'Someone' had warped the reality and made the world was different suddenly. But Apocalypse is dead so who is kidnapping to The Twelve?  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Four-  
  
The roughened hands of Alex Summers squeezed with a tight grip the thick rope, and they tugged experimentally. Neither the cable nor the rock where it was tied had given in. Perfect.  
  
He fixed his boots on the harsh rock and glanced at the sky above.  
  
A crevasse was carved in the heart of a large fault, as a wound scarring the Earth's skin, built by two walls of ruthless rock drawing a wedge-like outline. They were two tall surfaces of stone jagged and sharp in the areas where the erosion hadn't corroded, smoothed and polished the land in an even, flat surface.  
  
The younger Summers brother was becoming very familiarized with the rift at amazing speed. It was easily understandable being acquainted with the fact of he had stumbled into it accidentally. And now he was stuck between two ramparts of stone, which elongated skywards as bulwarks of a fortress. From that hole he could see the shred of cloudless blue sky silhouetted with the sharp peaks, and the solar disc lurking on a corner. Thanks to its gleaming light he was able of studying the interesting stratums of the land, wide and narrow layers of ground hardened and petrified throughout ages, streaked with beautiful colors.  
  
"I'm looking at the ground and I fall in a pit. This sort of stuff only can happen to me." He muttered with a shake of head. His voice dripped hissing acid. "I didn't know the sight from the bottom was so pretty. Perhaps I should trip in crevasses more often. It isn't like if my skull can crack or something."  
  
Biting and sarcastic mood was his default coping method. Joke about the sheer and blatant absurdity of his plight was one way of focusing his mind in extricating to himself out of it instead wasting time brooding uselessly. His friends could say what they would about his brother and himself, but Scott and he didn't brood or sulk during crisis. The patented and freaking Summers calm and coolness worked focusing their thoughts and sharpening theirs wits under pressure. Brood or fret or freak under pressure wasn't allowed, brooked or tolerated.  
  
Alex supported his full weight on one leg, propelling with the other upwards. Slowly he began to climb along the wall, a sheet of stone wrinkled with jutting bulges and torn with cracks. He had been careful of tying the rope on the most uneven side, and right now his feet stepped carefully on each bump, edge, ridge and slab on the pit. As he ascended along the rift, he felt salty sweat prickling on his skin and drenching his cotton shirt in chest, back and armpits. It was a damned and bothersome nuisance.  
  
"Are you all right, Alex?" Someone screamed from the outside, where the air was clean and the dirt didn't soil and muddle the hair.  
  
"Yes, I believe I can manage it." He yelled back. "Don't worry!"  
  
"Are you sure you don't want my help?"  
  
"Positive!" He replied.  
  
And then the cords raveled and the rope broke, like if that word was its cue.  
  
Havok was thrown backwards with a brutal jolt, and he fell in the void, shouting. His body rolled around in mid-air while he dropped downwards, further down in the darkness. Abruptly a flaring nimbus of electrical green surrounded him and it halted his descent. He hovered silently, wrapped in glittering energy and was hauled upwards, out of the crevasse. With painstakingly care and extreme kindness he was laid down on the ground.  
  
Alex would have kissed the dry and cracked land of dust, rubble, cobbles and boulders, but his stomach was too unsettled to perform brisk, brusque movements. And he wished maintaining a minimal pretense of dignity. Thus he remained where he lay, standing down and immobile as long as he waited his guts decided that throwing up the breakfast wasn't required or wished in that situation.  
  
A green shadow cloaked the piercing sunlight.  
  
Lorna sauntered in front of him, dressed in her hat, flannel shirt and jeans. The upright stance with arms akimbo was supposed to give her a stern, harsh air, but the effect was spoiled by the smirk her mouth, cheeks and eyes failed in hiding. She was chuckling of its shameful plight.  
  
"Oh, the male pride. Downfall of civilizations, ruin of kings and cause of wars everywhere." She quipped as hunkered down and next to him. "You couldn't just follow the easiest path and ask me haul you out, could you? Dumb geologist, I don't want even thinking about the rifts, faults and crevasses could have showed on your skull." She stopped her ranting, and pecked his lips softly, without caring for the taste to powder and sweat. "A fascinating geological study located on your own head. Imagine that."  
  
He sniggered, his mood considerably less dark after of her kiss. "Yes. When we were in Australia, Logan mumbled often my head and my whole family's ones were worthy of being studied."  
  
A sudden shade clouded his eyes and he frowned thoughtfully. Lorna acknowledged with easiness the signs. He had just got one of his introspective moments. She parted the golden locks away of his forehead and curled one of them around a finger. "What is it, honey?"  
  
His eyes of piercing blue looked up, at the sky. Scarce clouds dotted the deep blue of the sky with their ivory, cotton-like whiteness. Gaze the sky and contemplate its peaceful mechanics used to be a source of tranquillity and peace of mind to him. Yet it didn't impede him of brooding in his life, reflecting about his troubles and second-guessing to himself obsessively. Genetic trait, it was. "Have you ever thought what might have happened if we had accepted the offer of Val and taken the job of 'Government's muties'?"  
  
Lorna blinked. "Are you referring to when she proposed you lead the next alignment of X-Factor?"  
  
"Yes. I turned it down because was fed up of endless fights against malignant powers to annihilate all is good and fair in this world. I didn't join to the X-Men willingly, but because they were in troubles and I wasn't heartless. And I was particularly tired of being looking down because my big brother is best leader, best fighter and best everything. And I was downright, absolutely, utterly sick of the supervillain-of-the-week turning up of sudden and using my inferiority complex to turn me on my friends and family."  
  
She laughed. Her laughter was caused for the sarcastic and bitterly ironic tone, but the sound was cracked, worn off and humorless. After all, she understood perfectly his feelings.  
  
"Yes, I can tell it. You and me have been pawns of bad guys since ever. The Living Pharaoh and Magneto were the first ones of a very long list. Our friends practically expected you and me turned evil or were seduced for the dark side of the Force, simultaneously or alternatively. Erik the Red, Malice, the Goblin Queen, Sinister, Genosha, the Shadow King... We must have a knack for being brainwashed, possessed or manipulated."  
  
She paused, pondering thoughtfully. "I believe to stay away of that crap was correct. It hadn't stopped, Alex. We'd have kept being fucked over and over and over again. Nowadays we get our degrees in Geology, and we are together. No evil plots to take over America, no shit beating us."  
  
"You are right" He mused. He had always wanted a normal, uneventful life. And they had earned the right to lay the sword down after of their distressing super-heroes tenures.  
  
She nodded. "Of course I'm right. Now let's go to the cottage to clean you, wash your clothes and heal your bumps, big baby."  
  
She hauled him roughly on his feet, yanking with too strength. Alex stumbled forward, thrust for the momentum. However that lunging move really was a cunning plan to kiss her, exploiting the chance and the opening. She gasped when his lips were suddenly on her, but said nothing while he tasted her thoroughly.  
  
While he performed a merge of lips he felt a strange sensation roaming across his body and a painful pang in his heart. A choking and aching tremor he couldn't explain really, but urged him to increase twofold the passion and tenderness of the kiss, to enjoy it with delight like if it was the last one. He used feel often that sensation when he lay down with Lorna on the bed, the awful hunch of feeling she could vanish and that happy moment would be the last one. Some friends had watched how much passion and fervor they kept in their relationship and had envied them frequently, but that devotion was due to the hesitations and uncertainties plagued him constantly.  
  
He compared his love towards Lorna with a music box of glass, something beautiful but extremely fragile, needed of love and upkeep. It was the reason he exploited every awake moments to tell her how much he loved her and appreciated. He couldn't afford lose her. Alex loved her and needed, and above all he wanted being a better man for her.  
  
By luck it had been increasingly easy since he quitted the X-Men. Leaving had been the only possible option to him. It had become unbearable.  
  
In the beginning he had joined to aid in a moment of dire necessity: the first battle with the Marauders had resulted in the Morlock Massacre and the half of the team crippled and disabled. The X-Men were surviving through new members recruited hurriedly, and he felt a responsibility towards the team no unlike to Scott. The troubles emerged right away. To put it simply he wasn't made of hero's stuff, and it turned out evident very soon. He knew. Everyone knew, and they compared him with Scott, deemed unworthy, looked down on him, and longed for the Scott's leadership. He understood it -how could he don't it?- but he hated it and hated them. And he hated Scott too, because he had been the best in all since they were toddlers. Always the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. He had never allowed to Alex perform some glorious feat and let him get away with it without outdoing him accidentally. He hated him. And above all he hated to himself because Scott never deserved it. He was petty and bitter. He was sick.  
  
But it didn't stop him to feel gradually more inadequate, useless and worthless. He was tired of everyone, always expecting something of him and being disappointed afterwards. If Lorna had been along with him it would have been annoying but bearable. But she wasn't, possessed for Malice and used as plaything for the bastard haunted to his family. Thus he turned to Madelyne to console her, and she used his forlorn feelings of loneliness, reject, loss and resentment to her own goals. She used her own plight to fuel his hatred and turn him into a weapon against Scott. He used to excuse her why she was crazy, very ill and mad. Other life shattered by Sinister, one more of a long list. But in short she had slept with him and had made him love her to take revenge on Scott. He hadn't forgiven fully to Scott for hurting her, but who was he to criticize him? He had committed adultery with his brother's wife.  
  
In the aftermath of Inferno Illyana saved her soul, Jean was free to pursue to her soulmate, and Scott crushed to Sinister and got back his son. And him? He felt sickening dirty, pathetic and betrayed. And very lonely. During the Australian months his misery and dissatisfaction increased. The team was falling apart and he held his share of responsibility on the debacle. He didn't want being a hero, he didn't want be with them, and above all he didn't want they complained about his competence or lacking thereof.  
  
Then they walked where the angels fear tread, the Perilous Siege: Piotr ended up being a respected artist, Betsy became a warrior and he... ended up in Genosha, hunting, torturing, beating, jailing and killing mutants. And used as pawn to destroy to his elder brother, of course. His life's story.  
  
Villains are sorely lacking of imagination.  
  
He had prayed, and God had delivered one answer. Straight, concise and unmistakable. He didn't belong. He couldn't be a superhero. No a full-term hero at least. And he was tired of being shadowed for his brother. He needed being again Alex Summers, gorgeous blonde boy with a boring and dull life cuddling rocks. No Havok, super-heated plasma generator and human-sized disaster. Scott had to feel the necessity for being himself likewise, because he was piloting planes in the granddad company. He was glad for him.  
  
Alex parted lips and kissed to Lorna once more.  
  
Lorna relished in the coppery savor of the lips, a taste salty but extremely sweet. Inwardly she was smirking. She knew he mustered so much passion in everything had to do with her due to his fear and feelings of inadequacy. He shouldn't get so scared, but speaking bluntly Alex had little to nothing of faith in himself. She resented it, but she had learnt long ago was easier forcing the sun to rise in the west than talk him into other thing. And if she was trustful, fear of loneliness and heartbreaking nestled in her chest likewise.  
  
Quitting the X-Men hadn't been an option to her either. Malice and the Shadow King had left her filthy.  
  
So filthy.  
  
Malice had stolen her body and taken away her will, taking great pleasure in doing it. She had locked her away in a tiny corner of her mind while she ran around using her identity. She had allowed her see while she used her powers to hurt people, injure friends and flirt with men like Sinister. That bitch had nullified her free will and handled her physique as a fucking puppet, and worst of all she had been powerless and impotent to impede it. That bodiless whore had raped her. There wasn't other name to it. To get rid of her wasn't enough to get rid of the sick dislike, the raw repugnance and the deep repulsion she felt towards her own body. The body someone had taken over and used to get fun. She was raped, filthy, degraded, stained.  
  
The Shadow King hadn't been anything better. He had ruled her body too. But instead of a simple possession he had dug deep within her soul until finding her darkest places. He had swum delightfully in the pools of her heart where she kept hidden her worst parts, sealed and tied in packages of fetid scum and stinking slime. He had cut them open and released the shit. He had turned upside down her self, bringing out the putrid dregs where she could recoil in horror but couldn't deny them. He had forced her to watch her own blackness, and worst of all, he had done her adore it. He had showed her the evil and she liked it. She had craved and yearned for rolling about the slime and after drinking it. She had desired being filthy, rotten in body and soul, reeking to evil and disease, drunk of amorality and corruption.  
  
And then came the awakening. And when her mind was free of the obscene Farouk's influence, when she could choose between good and evil, she knew that she would never feel pure ever again. She was tainted forever, defiled and soiled. She felt still the slippery tendrils of oozing muck clinging to her legs and crawling upwards to cover her body and drown her.  
  
There was something wrong in her.  
  
There was something bad and repugnant and twisted inside her, struggling for going out. Yes, the evil was lurking and throbbing within her, feeding of the dread and waiting for a chance to arise and taste fear and pain. She could feel it affecting to her brain and tingeing of coal-black her thoughts whenever she deployed massively her power. It reminded her hugely of Jean and her own past troubles with the absolute power messing with her mind.   
  
If she intended retaining her sanity she couldn't belong to the team. She needed get away, relax and live peacefully. Serenity to ease her fears, stability to master her mind, peace to purge her corruption and balance to nurture her light side. Important things she needed as breathe, and she had achieved thanks to Alex. He might drive her mad every so often, but she felt loved with him. A woman happy and whole.  
  
They broke the kiss reluctantly and walked together to their home with stupid, dreamy grins on their blushing faces.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
Use to Polaris to hunt to Havok and Iceman had been petty, but effective.  
  
Maybe it wasn't right. The woman was powerfully fucked and screwed actually. Scramble her poor head again to force her to execute that dirty job was sickening. And needless to say it was dangerous. She might have developed tolerance to the manipulations, or might strike back aggressively. And thus she had done certainly. She battled feverishly, vigorously. She used all her impressive power, blistering rage and numbing madness to give her supplementary strengths. All for the sake of saving her mind of being ravaged again and her will of being shut out and obliterated again.  
  
But at the end, she yielded.  
  
It was very simple wait for the perfect chance. Alex and Bobby were sent together in one mission and eventually were stranded away the group. Then Polaris assaulted to each one separately, using her rule over the iron to control their bloodstreams. Both passed out instantly and they were promptly harvested.  
  
And the X-Men lay the blame on Polaris when Logan sniffed the trail, without suspecting who was really after of the ambush or who was pulling the chords and leading them around as puppets.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
In the next chapter we watch to Logan along with his true love (and for once I'm NOT talking about Ororo. Amazing, right?). Meanwhile the events speed up when more X-Men are fetched. 


	5. Part Five

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: Come on, pals! I need reviews! I want reviews! Write two lines down can't be so hard, can it? Go ahead! Or do you want I think doesn't matter whether I go on the tale or not?  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Five-  
  
Logan took with painstakingly care the brown and grey mug and brought it to his awaiting lips. It was hot and steaming, and smelt deliciously. He sipped the green tea with deliberate slowness, relishing in the sweet savor of the warm infusion, and gulped the drink exhaling a delighted grunt of satisfaction. His tongue licked his lips lazily.  
  
He felt so much peace.  
  
While he held the cup, letting its warmth stroke his callous hands, he glanced at the vast and luscious garden. All was harmony and lavish beauty, a feast to the senses and a relief to the body. With its sight he felt mellower and more elated than in much, much time. It was so quiet, serene and pacific.  
  
Crap. He was talking and behaving as an old man. Well, technically he was, but...  
  
A piercing, ear-shattering shrill echoed through the lawn disrupting utterly the mellow tranquillity.  
  
With a mixture of resignation and fun in his eyes he peeped at Amiko, her fore daughter. The child was perched on the tallest branch of one cherry tree, and was goading cheerfully to his son to climb the trunk too. The little girl was a whirlwind of energy, like if she tried proving she was his daughter, blood or not.  
  
He smiled an honest, toothy grin of misplaced pride and shook his head in disbelief. Then a shift on the air drew his attention. An intoxicating presence filled his perceptions with its closure.  
  
"Amiko shouldn't be prodding to his brother to perform such dangerous activity. She shouldn't be swinging on branches of trees as a matter of fact." A calm and troubled voice sounded next to him.  
  
He smiled again. His keen senses had noticed her presence long before she kneeled down, filling the empty spot of the table contiguous to him. He turned to see her grabbing her own cup of tea and slurping noiselessly several sips, sparing a brief and sharp glance at the garden. The whole time she was eyeing to the children with her face altered with mild concern.  
  
"Should she fall..." Her voice trailed off, letting very clear of who she was referring to.  
  
Logan shrugged. "She is a bundle of energy with her age. She's relentless, and needs test her limits all the time. A little of hurt will teach her to not do it better than our lectures. And with we right here, nothing bad can happen to her. Besides, she is above of the pond."  
  
"Poor carps. She shall get them killed by dint of the scares she gives them." Mariko Yoshida drank the last drops of her beverage and lifted the teapot to replenish her mug. Meanwhile Logan stayed quiet, his attention divided between staring at his wife and observing to his hyperactive daughter. She was now dangling head-down, with the knees folded around one branch. The child squealed faint surprise yells, apparently fascinated with her image reflected on the water, overlapping to the red-and-white fishes.  
  
Soft footsteps in the outside drew his attention, and he looked at the bamboo door. The panel slid open and the old maid sneaked into the lobby. Her hands carried one tray with several appetizers, balls of spiced rice and rolls of fish. He sat up instantly and walked around of the table, taking the tray off her hands.  
  
"Sir, it isn't necessa-"  
  
He scowled inwardly with a resigned frustration. They had held this conversation before. "Of course it isn't. Of course it is your job, you were hired to it, and you feel honored doing it. However I can carry around food, and you can be needed in another part of the house. You are dismissed."  
  
"But sir!" She protested, but refrained to herself of further comment. She knew when tough-headed could be Lady Mariko's husband. And these arguments were very trying and fatiguing to her too. The maid whirled around and strolled out of the room, being careful of closing the door silently.  
  
Appearances of dignity and decorum had to be kept after all.  
  
Meanwhile Logan placed the food on the table and sat down. "Again you have accomplished to infuriate another maiden, beloved. I must compliment your skill." Logan listened to her sporting a broad and heartily grin.  
  
"I have a knack to, excuse my language Mari, piss off to the people." One hand darted towards one slice of salmon, and he munched the piece of fish delicately. He was reluctant to be gross in that mansion. It didn't seem right, despite of the relentless Mariko's chastisement stressing this was his home and therefore he could behave to his heart's content. "I know it is her job and she takes it very seriously, her particular duty and all that stuff. But I've never employed any servant, or I don't remember at least, and don't intend start now. Besides, you are who hire them, so I have excuse."  
  
A loud and wet splash burst suddenly. Their heads whipped at once and simultaneously towards the pond. Amiko was swimming in the middle, looking absolutely drenched and miserable.  
  
An instant earlier she had found out the branch wasn't sturdy enough to bear her weight after all. It split with a snap, and she plunged headfirst in the water so swiftly she hadn't time to squeal ever. Another child could have passed out with the blow and drowned, but her Aunt Yukio had trained her to bear hits and falls and recover instantly. Sheer reflects forced her body to rotate in the water and dive upwards hastily, before she ran out of oxygen. She had surfaced among spits of water and coughs, hoping against hope her parents hadn't witnessed her disgraceful dip. She wiped the water off her eyes and looked around with fearful eyes and flushed cheeks. Her eyesight located to her brother, squatted on the rim of the pole and offering her one helpful hand. Amiko took it, struggling against her temptation of tugging and hurling him in the pond.  
  
Logan watched with a huge and smug smirk the antics of both children on the garden, snickering while his hand sought Mariko's. "See you? Now Amiko will think twice before of pulling another stupid stunt."  
  
"Indeed I hope so."  
  
He chuckled and drunk other teacup, reflecting about the sheer weirdness of his life in that instant, the blessed and boring normalcy his world had reached. Often he longed for the old days of uncaring independence and solitary autonomy. He missed be in his own without owing explanations to nobody, thinking just in the current moment. However he wouldn't change what he had achieved for nothing.  
  
After Weapon-X, Jimmy and Heather had returned him his humanity and offered a family. Charles had given him something to believe in, ideals worthy of living and fighting for. The X-Men had gifted him friends, persons he was proud of knowing.  
  
He recalled his first meeting with Mariko. They had arrived to Japan after dueling with Magneto in a volcano's pit, battling against a mad god in the Savage Land and struggling against the tempests of Cape Horn. He could have put a forefront of inalterable toughness and unyielding manliness with his partners, due to his reluctance to show his weakness. That unwillingness was born out of habit, enduring distrustful and his refusal to get worried to people cared for him. However he had been exhausted and drained and needing a break, a relief, a moment to regain his breath and cool down. Then he met her with her. She was pretty. Polite, kind, intelligent. A true dame. Why she hadn't ran away of him at the first sight of his barbarian and roughened appearance was beyond him.  
  
Had been easy love to Jean. Hell, nearly every the X-males had done so. But be loved by her no. She only handed over her heart to one man. And it was partially the reason he had been so driven in her, obsessed with her. He always chased what he knew he couldn't have. But Mariko was different. She was solid, tangible, no a vague mirage, an unreachable ideal. She was solid ground under his foot, the woman who had tamed to the animal and nurtured to the man.  
  
He remembered with less enchantment his meeting with Amiko. In the wake of the Secret Wars the X-Men had fought a dragon in Tokyo. Amidst of the collapsed and wrecked ruins he had met one woman with her child. She had died, but only after he promised her taking care of her poor, orphaned child. He swore it, and his word was his bound. Still he had been scared from the beginning. Look after of someone whose life depends on you implied many responsibilities, duties and compromises. Know how bring up a child and give him or her love and protection without being overwhelming wasn't easy.  
  
It was a true challenge. Very enticing. One he was willing to win. For the Amiko's sake at least.  
  
Logan slid an arm behind his wife, squeezing her shoulder and pulling her in him. "Do you think our kid can be..."  
  
"Honestly? I don't know. Maybe he is a mutant, maybe not. Maybe he gets your powers. Maybe he gets others. Perhaps my familiar genes get some latent mutation can be triggered. Serves of example my cousin Shiro. But regardless he can be-"  
  
"We'll always love him not matter what." Wolverine completed the sentence, gripping tightly her hand. He needed desperately show her his love, his feelings, and since words never were his strong point, he resorted to physical displays of affection. He wanted Mariko knew how much she meant to him, how thanked he was of having meet with her. But there was other underlying, ulterior motive. Far more sinister.  
  
Sometimes when he looked at her, Logan felt like if he was seeing a ghost. A shade, a wraith, a hide might fade away forever at any moment. He craved the reassurance of her reality, the closeness of her body.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
The next phase required careful and cunning planning. More members of the X-Men were about of disappearing when they were in alert already. Two of they were stray and weren't trouble, but the third was the figurehead. When he was abducted and the remainders two were missed, the effect would be of a stone dropping on a lake or a domino piece falling. The X-Men would be seriously alarmed and determined to get them back. Persons would be tracked down, worldwide sweeps and searches would be made, trails would be followed and guidelines would be sought. Even existed the possibility they noticed the fellowship which they belonged, hence jeopardizing the plan.  
  
The first was Lucas Bishop.  
  
He was a powerful absorber and channeler of energy, but he was pretty useless caught for surprise and off guard, with no weapons or warning, ambushed with physical violence instead any kind of energy. He was instantly knocked out and defeated, attacked from behind with a blunt instrument. It was all it took.  
  
The next turned out to be Storm.  
  
It hurt. Ororo Munroe was seized using the most innocent, harmless bait. She would never be guarded against it; furthermore, it was impossible. Thus the windrider was treacherously attacked when her defenses were utterly lowered. She was fully confided and serene, hugging lovingly to one friend of hers, when she screamed in pain. Still did hurt the recall of the pained screech, the subsequent whimpers and the eyes blurred with tears and gawking with betrayal. But it had to be done.  
  
And then came the Professor-X.  
  
The most of the X-Men had departed to one mission. Others were imparting classes and teaching lessons. And he was comfortably seated on his luxurious office, smoking one handsome pipe while leafed through school reports and missions records. He was so absorbed in the task he was oblivious to anything else. Hence he never saw or perceived the psychic screamer somebody had placed below his desk drawer. And when it was set up, he was beyond concerning.  
  
Pain flared in his mind and traveled across his brain. His thoughts shook and shattered in shards as fragile glass, and the following explosion blasted a shockwave rippled along the astral plane. The psychic realm wavered with the blowup, abruptly overloaded with more energy than it could contain, and quaked in its very foundations. Thousand electric shocks jolted his frame, and he was struck down. The X-Men felt his pain through the psychical link, sensed his excruciating hurt in their heads like theirs own, and they passed out likewise.  
  
His fainted, battered and bruised frame was a limped heap fallen on his table when it was recollected and evacuated out. The X-Men burst in the room too late. Too late to impede his kidnapping. Too late to discover the game and make something in the matter. Very soon the plan would be implemented.  
  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Merely missed four. Only four more to go.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
In the next part we see to Bobby, Emma and Jubilee, with the whole Generation-X (with a very dear surprise member). And besides, the identity of the kidnapper is revealed at last! Try guessing who it is. I'm sure nobody will manage figure out it. 


	6. Part Six

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: I'm sorry for the delay but I was waiting for some remark about the former parts. Thanks for the comments, pals, but keep on sending, please! Keep in mind I write several pages in each chapter. Hence can't be so hard draft a pair of lines with an advice or opinion in return. It's only fair, isn't it?  
  
To Ali: I DON'T dislike me Belladonna: but she's the Gambit's ex-wife and tried kill to Remy and Rogue several times so obviously she isn't the Rogue's favorite person. I tried and reflected that, no my personal opinion. It's a Madelyne/Jean type of stuff.  
  
I reckon I can have confused to my readers so I'll put this straight: The interludes happen in cannon comic. The events happened in them broke the timeline apart and forged an alternative reality, where Scott and Jean live in Alaska with their kids, Psylocke is alive and is Archangel's lover, Gambit and Rogue get married, Alex and Lorna live together and retired, Logan hasn't lost to Mariko... The reason behind is one person used to The Twelve to remake the universe. And in the current part we discover to the responsible. I'm sure you will be surprised.  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Six-  
  
Emma Frost purred with contentment while the hot rain of water droplets poured on her, soaking her skin, washing over the filthiness and the tiredness, and warming her body. Her silky hands kneaded thoroughly her slim frame with a therapeutic massage, loosening the knots of the muscles and the soreness of her limbs. Around her floated billows of vapor and mixed with her steamy breath.  
  
The shower was her personal Heaven. They never failed in doing her feel cleansed, or in replenishing her energies after of a whole day dealing with Jubilee. God knew she needed a break from the bubbly teenager.  
  
While she threaded one hand along her golden locks, other drifted towards the bottle of the shampoo. However she spent more seconds than usual in finding it, like if it wasn't in its usual spot. Bewildered but confided Emma disregarded the detail, attributing it to silly paranoia. She snapped the cap and tipped the container.  
  
"Wait!" An unexpected hand suddenly grabbed her wrist with gentle firmness.  
  
She turned surprised at her interloper. "Robert! What on the Earth are you doing in my shower? Go out!"  
  
Bobby Drake didn't listen. Instead he snatched away her hands the cleaning product. "Have you any idea of what were about of doing to yourself?" He snarled.  
  
Emma crossed her arms over her naked breasts and looked down on him with irresistible haughtiness. "It is named wash one's hair, Robert. It means wet the hair, in this instance my hair, apply the cleaning product, in this instance that shampoo, rub energetically and thoroughly, wash over the suds and bubbles of soap with the shower, and rinse the strands. The goal of the above-mentioned activity is clean the dirt and grease off the hair. Is it clear enough to your brain now, or you need further definition?"  
  
"Observe carefully" Bobby stated dryly, ignoring her biting remarks. Emma blinked, surprised and flabbergasted with that level and nonchalant tone. She couldn't help pay attention to him.  
  
Bobby turned upside down the bottle with flippant and exaggerated gestures, and let a thin stream of gelatinous mass slid at his open palm. The viscous blot of liquid soap was of a pale orange color.  
  
The White Queen arched an annoyed brow. "What am I supposed to- Wait a moment! That color... That isn't my shampoo!"  
  
Bobby shrugged. "Of course not. I suspected Jubilee was up to nothing good when I saw her walking at the Danger Grotto with a wicked and insanely pleased grin plastered on her face. Then I passed by the bathroom, and I figured out all when I listened to the shower noises. By luck I was in time."  
  
"Thanks Robert" She beamed, sincerely grateful, before her countenance darkened. "Still I must slay to Jubilation. I shall need time to develop a suitable punishment thus her fate be awfully unpleasant..."  
  
"Come on, Emma. Take pity on her." Bobby patted her left shoulder, hoping being reassuring. "She is only seventeen. She is evolving from teenager to mature grownup. And she hates that process with passion. Thus she tries proving she is the same old joker Jubilee, and you are a convenient victim to her -how did Hank put it?- teenager spirit of rebellion. It's only one phase. It'll eventually pass."  
  
"That explains plenty things about yourself, Bobby" Emma remarked with a twinkle of her frozen-blue eyes. Apparently she had forgotten she was stark naked, and displaying her gorgeous body to him. "Confirm me one of them. Did you leave behind that phase?"  
  
"I'm not sure I did."  
  
She giggled. "You are absolutely hopeless, Bobby." Iceman laughed back but he ceased, puzzled when the echoing laughter ceased abruptly. Emma wasn't sniggering anymore. And her expression had turned serious and gloomy. "Thanks for helping me in the Academy, Robert. I can excel teaching, but you have with the children a comprehension and an understanding I regrettably can't claim."  
  
Bobby fidgeted with the same uneasiness he felt whenever Emma decided compliment him. It was unnerving. "I try only helping, Emma. I am good remaining in touch with my inner child and in applying it to the real life. It isn't really anything to be thankful for..." He trailed off.  
  
"Oh, but it IS. Without your help and your knowledge of the teenager brain I'd be rendered bald or dyed nowadays. And I am thankful, so I should reward you. You coincide with my assumption, don't you?"  
  
Her wolfish grin turned predatory. Bobby started to squirm. She leered at him, basking in his obvious fear, loving his rattled stance.  
  
Utterly hopeless She sent away, into his mind. That was his only warning before she grabbed roughly his shirt's lapels and pulled him roughly in her. She kissed him, shutting his squealing yelps of protest.  
  
Eerie sparks gleamed in her eyes while she merged lips with him and tasted the sweet flavor of his mouth. He could be somewhat prankster and buffoon but he was kinder, nicer and more honest than the most of the paltry representatives of the mankind she had known so far. And he displayed cuteness in a boyish kind of way. True, he wasn't Shaw, he didn't sport that sensation of power, he didn't exude that dominance. But that was all there had ever been between the Black King and her, power games. Forever she had secretly been reluctant and cowed of the shadows lurking in his dark eyes.  
  
She could grow fond of a goofy smile and honest eyes, without blind shutters sheltering closed spaces behind. Besides, she liked a man she could scare and frighten mindlessly.  
  
She pulled him in the tube and slid the drape behind him. An instant later the curtain parted again, and a female lean hand tossed out several articles of clothing and two shoes.  
  
Absorbed in theirs own business, neither of them noticed a glowing golden disc flashing mysteriously in a corner of the ceiling. Out of that shimmering torn in the spatial fabric emerged a video camera.  
  
Meanwhile, in a darkened room, Jubilation Lee switched the monitor on and began to record the ribald images filling the video screen. An insane and satisfied grin curved her lips and she burst in wild laughter, starting to the entire pack of Generation-X, gathered around her. They were her partners-in-crime and mischief. Paige had co-created the devilish scheme, Everett had talked to the group into, Angelo had assembled the toy, Blink had teleported the camera, and Monet and Jono were shielding them psychically.  
  
Oh, yes, this tape was worth of its weight in gold.  
  
She regretted mournfully Bobby had busted her inoffensive plan, and the subsequent missed chance of making a prank at Emma's expense, but he remained unaware of her secondary scheme. With that tape she would exact revenge on Emma after she punished the shampoo trick. And on Drake too, for having blown up her joke and having sided with Frosty. Even if he had stood up for her, Popsicle ought to pay.  
  
She arched back her head and cackled maniacally. Her friends and teammates edged away from her slowly.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
Nathan Summers hammered with brutal punches the sphere of immaterial energy where he was encased. His left eye glowed with the golden radiance of a suncore and erupted blistering fire. That crackling and blinding flame was a telltale hint of the force he was unleashing. The Cable's mind invoked his formidable and virtually endless supply of power and hurled it against the curvy surface, hoping his immeasurable and incomprehensible strength was enough to set him free.  
  
He hoped in vain. Psychic flares capable of extinguishing suns crashed harmlessly in the glass-like barrier and burst in flickering smithereens of sparks.  
  
The wall-shield quavered. Nathan might swear it was contemptuously mocking of him. Unwilling to surrender he sent other barrage of bolts as his bulky and muscular frame pulsated amber.  
  
Beside him stood his sister, locked inside of a similar bubble of anti-force. She was literally afire, charring in her own raging flames while a rising Phoenix enveloped her shape. Her red hair danced and crackled like blazes and an unholy light shimmered on her eyeballs while she unleashed flowing tongues of fire upon the crystalline wall. She attacked her prison with an effort and stubbornness praiseworthy but useless. The globe absorbed and dispersed easily any amount of cosmic energy she could muster.  
  
Attack like that was a pointless waste of energy and resources. Rachel realized of that futility and gave up.  
  
Nathan glanced at her plaintively and turned at the figure that had trapped them in those energy marbles. There was something sinister and eerie in the shadows tainted the eyes and in the tantalizing twitches of the blazes licking the skin. Ravenous flames rippled, wavered and flared around of the body, shrouding it in red. Thoroughly alarmed Nathan wondered what had happened. And for first time he questioned the wisdom of his decision of breaking up with the X-Men.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" He wheezed. Regretfully, since he didn't wish displaying weakness, but the struggle had taken its toll.  
  
Rachel repeated his words among the sound of her sobs and her punches pummeling hopelessly the globule. "Yes! Why are you doing this? I don't understand-"  
  
"Hush, Rachel. You likewise, Nathan. I'm doing this for both of you."  
  
"For us?" He queried, intrigued. His voice was laced with blatant incredulity and puzzlement.  
  
"For all of us in reality. I'm going to do it all better, but I need your help."  
  
"Ask was too easy?" He grated balefully, twisting his lips in an annoyed curl.  
  
A long finger was flung towards him, pointing him accusatorily. "Perhaps I would have done if I had known where you stayed! Or what she was alive for that matter! And don't dare to use that tone with me, Nathan Christopher! I'm very disgusted with you!"  
  
Suddenly she crossed the rim of the bubble and embraced him tightly with strong and athletic arms. He blinked in confusion. First she assailed him and seized and an instant later was hugging him. Why?  
  
"Dumb kid. Why did you run away from everyone? We could have used your help and solace. But instead you vanish without trace and wander around the entire world, making errands." A set of lips kissed tenderly his temple. "My little hero. You always were like that, even of child. A young boy with a heart so soft and big it didn't fit in your chest, a skull too tough for your own good, and a tunnel vision to change the world into a better place."  
  
Nathan intended speaking, but she untangled their bodies and stepped towards Rachel, facing her with arms akimbo.  
  
"Was a true and unexpected surprise finding out what you had returned from the Hereafter. When I knew was as angry as distraught at the knowledge you preferred hide instead warning us of your return. Albeit maybe I shouldn't be so shocked. Perhaps I deserve that treatment. I was never that you needed and I hurt you too many times. So many times... It's understandable you didn't want anything with me"  
  
"You haven't hurt me!" Rachel rebuked, horrified. Appalled because she could believe such absurdity.  
  
Crackling green eyes bored in her. They were harsh and merciless. "No? Didn't even when I repudiated you? Or when I turned you down when you were seeking love desperately? Or when I swatted you aside as a nuisance, a particularly unwanted insect? Or when I treated you as a despicable bug, someone who I wanted out of my world so my hectic and twisted life was less complicated? Don't say bullshit, child."  
  
Distraught pain crept in the young redhead's features, but Rachel controlled hastily her expression, being more alarmed than wounded. She gazed intensely at the woman, scrutinizing her very thoughtfully. "You want me angry with you" She mouthed plainly, levelly. With words surprisingly steady and serene. "For some twisted motive you want I become angry with you. Perhaps because you think you deserve the despite. Am I mistaken?"  
  
It was barely a strangled wheeze and a blink. A faint frowning and an imperceptible squirm. But it was enough to Rachel. The telepath shook her head. "I'm not willing fueling your self-compassion or helping you to martyr yourself" Rachel paused and stared her seriously. "Why do you want I hate you?"  
  
"I not... I mean, I don't..." She stammered, bewildered. The biting words seemed have her touched deeply, and her semblance was mollified, gone her entire fury. By now. "Our relationship or lacking of it is so warped. I want we are sort of friends, but... Never I made the world good for you: still worse, I ignore the way, and it's immensely frustrating. When I found out you were back and here again was furious, but joyful and delighted too. And that mirth had nothing to see with my plans. But... even so I needed know the reason of your return so then I... peered into your head." She trailed off, letting the condemnatory words floated on the air. "You are disappointed, aren't you? I knew what you'd do, but just like I previously stated, I've let you down so many times... what is once more?"  
  
The woman shook her head sadly. Misery and grief were written over it.  
  
Rachel ogled to her, downright speechless. She sensed the blunt revulsion goes along with the knowledge of the violation of your intimacy, but no the raw fury she should feel. She was displeased and sad, but no really sick. And she knew why.  
  
"I don't hate you" She answered. A non sequitur, but perfectly coherent. "I can't hate you. I won't. Please, drop off the gloomy act. Besides, it's obvious you aren't yourself." She blinked, recalling something else she had uttered. "What are those plans you spoke about-"  
  
Her voice trailed off and she gasped, stunned. Her hand was brushing the flickering sphere. Her fingertips pierced the layers sinuously and reached for her. Smooth fingers caressed her cheek.  
  
"Are precisely you accusing me of gloomy sorrow and self-immolation, my little child? I might repeat during one year you couldn't have done proudest to your mother, and you wouldn't believe me. Sweet and innocent kid" She purred. "Heir of my might and my force. You along with your brother wield a vast and limitless power is yours by right of blood and birth. My -our- legacy and your heritage. You will fill my place, little firebird. Thanks to your help I'll be strong. Strong to chase away the hurt, the heartache, the resentment and the regrets. Neither of you will bear the suffering you had endured. I'll free you of the pain. And then we shall patch up at last."  
  
"Are you sure you are fine?" Nathan interrupted, eyeing her likeness carefully.  
  
Flames of the darkest red, almost midnight black, obscured and concealed her frame, and cracks of lightnings traveled along it. Gorgeous physique, scantily clad with glossy jet-black leather. Undersized corset with ample cleavage squashed and flaunted the big and perky breasts. Fitting elbow-length gloves, rippling and creasing with each motion. High-heeled boots, dressing the feet and shins up to the knee. Flowing cloak flapping freely behind of her, as the wings of a vampire. A flare of crimson hair covering the cloak down to the waist and trailing behind of her.  
  
And eyes sharp as daggers, hard as shards of obsidian, and burning as coals, smoldering with charring emerald blazes. The wrath had returned and was swallowing her alive.  
  
She looked down, checking over her scary outfit. "Are you referring to this, Nate? Don't worry, I'm not crazy. Or perhaps I do, but truthfully it can't care me less. All in all Maddie looked get tons of boundless fun like a raving lunatic madwoman bent in her thirst of revenge, right? Maybe I should give it a try every so often. An orgiastic spree of ravaging destruction can be amusing and releasing. The super-villains always seemed enjoy delightfully with that kind of stuff. Dump moral inhibitions for once is releasing."  
  
Nathan Summers never freaked for anything. But now she was looking steadily like Madelyne and expressing a sort of wistful longing -or even yearning or elation- for acting just like her. Oh, my.  
  
"Jean, you can't mean-"  
  
No more sound got out of his mouth. She had rushed onwards and had covered it with both hands. Her hands felt rough and callous and her breath was abrupt, ragged, laborious. Nathan sensed acid fury, rage swirling underneath the surface, and stared straight at her eyes. And he gasped, alarmed. They flashed and flickered wildly. Her pupils danced and drifted erratically. She was tottering on the brink of the insanity.  
  
"Don't tell ME what I mean or not mean, Nathan Christopher. You don't know what I've put up with. You don't know what I've lived through. You don't know what shit I've endured. And you don't know because you fled instead staying with me. So don't say what you know better than me what I mean, because you don't know anything!" She spat. Embers leapt viciously, fed for unquenchable ire.  
  
However the little fires put off abruptly, and she blinked with the sting of the tears. Her mood changed drastically. Abruptly. She was way unstable. And therefore, dangerous.  
  
"These months have been a Hell, Nate. Back when you killed to Apocalypse we thought the nightmare was over, but not. We have suffered pain beyond of the point of return, scars beyond of healing. It hurts and aches and burns. I'm bleeding and am incapable of stopping." She gripped her left breast suddenly, and released a shuddering moan, practically a wail. She trembled during her struggle to get back her phony and cracked composure.  
  
Abruptly her eyes glowed with blazing starlight and her scary outfit exploded in flames. Hot-melting, amber fire blossomed around her and coalesced in a tight bodysuit of gaudy colors: dazzling golden and dark crimson, giving her a shady, blaze-like appearance. A very shady and fearsome appearance.  
  
That ferocious costume enhanced her expression. An eerie and stormy countenance, with haunted eyes gave chilly shudders when bore in someone. When she spoke, her voice wasn't deranged or grieving or choleric longer. It was booming, god-like.  
  
  
  
"I'm very sick of this. I'm going to make it all right, and this time it shall be done to my way. And when this ordeal is over, nobody on my family will feel pain or panic. This I swear, and if I must embrace the lurking blackness dwells in me, so be it."  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Whoever guessed Jean was the culprit has been awarded with a non-prize. I bet nobody thought that she was the mind behind this. Her motives will be fully explained in the future parts (although it's pretty easy counting on the first chapter. That situation was her doing), but face it, pals: after of the events of the last three years and with the drastic increasing of her power levels her mind was liable to snap out.  
  
In the next chapter we visit at last the X-Mansion in this time. How do the things work in this weird age? And in the interlude who will replace to Mikhail Rasputin in the crew of The Twelve? I opine my candidate is fitter than the Colossus's brother, frankly. By the way I've just given a hint of his identity. 


	7. Part Seven

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes:  
  
First and foremost, I love to the villains. Magneto, Doctor Doom, Galactus, Green Goblin, Ultron... It's because that my Jean Grey's favorite version is Dark Phoenix. She is great. No force in the cosmos might possibly defeat her. Only the love of one man.  
  
I have never got straight the powers of Mikhail Rasputin. It seems to me that he is an energy-transformer or a reality-bender. I'm not sure. Anyway I believe firmly Franklin Richards ought to have been one of The Twelve. All in all he IS one of the mightiest beings in the Marvel Universe.  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Seven-  
  
A soft gust swung slightly the door ajar. Shimmering sunrays filtered through the glass panes, enlightening the large kitchen and its two only occupants. A scrawny, pink-haired girl sauntered in front of the counter, all along staring warily to her blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend while she climbed deftly onto the shelf and shuffled along it.  
  
"Have you caught it already?"  
  
"Wait only a moment more, Sara. I nearly am."  
  
"Are you sure you won't fall down?"  
  
"Quite sure. At least if you quit of distracting me." Illyana Rasputin retorted bitterly as her tiny fingers clung clumsily to the knobs of the tall cupboard. While she inclined her weight forward, her hands rotated gingerly the handles and pulled open the doors, revealing the coveted treasure. Piles of candies stuffing in disarranged disorder the hideout. With an exclamation of insane glee, the Russian youngster sunk her eager fingers on the heap of wrappers, forgetting utterly her painstaking precautions.  
  
"Yana, Look out!"  
  
Illyana stepped back carelessly, and her joy turned fear when her foot touched thin air instead solid board. She yelped, panicked, and tried hanging on clumsily to the cabinet. Her legs staggered awkwardly onto the ledge, struggling for balancing her body, but an unlucky slip sent her plummeting downwards. She screamed in fear while her thin body rushed at the hard tiles amidst a cascade of wrappers.  
  
A broad and semi-hard cushion halted abruptly her fall. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her.  
  
Illyana breathed out in relief. Her hands palpated numbly the security net, unexpected but welcome, noting a muscular frame. And acknowledging it. Her elation evaporated fully. She craned her neck, and her lopsided eyesight spotted one familiar face. One familiar face, fuming with unfamiliar annoy and severity.  
  
"Brother!" She erupted in joy, hoping that cheerfulness masked her mortified anxiety.  
  
"Don't try cajoling me, snowflake" Piotr snarled to show to his little sister she was in serious trouble. Unluckily the Twinkies smashed on his head and piled on his shoulders spoiled the effect and defeated the purpose. Illyana giggled while he shook off the spongy cakes with a forbidding scowl.  
  
Meanwhile the redheaded Sara glanced stealthily at the door. Her eyes displayed a longing wish of edging away. Still she knew with no doubt Piotr would notice instantly of her attempt of ducking out.  
  
"What were you doing raiding the Henry's candy stashes?" Colossus eyed to both solemnly and grimly.  
  
Both teenagers squirmed, suitably ashamed. However Sara dared to step forward. "We were hungry. Still there're several hours to go till the dinner, so we thought snatch one cake. Only one to each one."  
  
He frowned at the little ex-Morlock. "So then my sister climbed the drawers and risked her physical soundness robbing spongy calories packs because either of you were starving?" He rubbed his temples with the fingertips, feeling already the blossoming of a throbbing headache. "If I hadn't been going by, Snowflake, you might have splintered some bones. Or even worse, suffered a concussion. Don't do that foolishness ever again. You could just have asked for help. I, or either of us, had lend one hand gladly."  
  
The Slavic child tucked nervously a golden strand behind her ear, and beamed to lighten up the situation. "I didn't dare me to bother you. You seemed pretty busy with Kitty."  
  
He answered scoffing. "You never bother me. Besides, Katya was engaged in humiliating me using the merciless method of the chess. My pride could have used the way out."  
  
In hearing that, the Illyana's eyes lit up and she snickered mischievously. Colossus rolled up his blue eyes, actually anticipating her mischievous gossip. "Chess? Sure you weren't doing anything else?"  
  
He slapped his forehead and groaned. "No, sister. She and I were an item once upon a while, but it didn't work out. Now we are just good and very close friends."  
  
"But neither of you had maintained a serious relationship afterwards, hadn't you?"  
  
Sara nudged her. "You are conveniently passing to Callisto over, matchmaker."  
  
"And Nereel" Piotr mused. His eyes glazed over and his mind traveled half world away, in a luscious savage land. With a blink and a start he returned to the kitchen. "Anyway you and your friend mustn't pull such dangerous stunts again, sister. If you need help with something, simply request it. It's actually quite bad to your safety that evil people can attack our home at any given moment. The last thing we need is you add your recklessness to the trouble, putting to yourselves in further danger. Is that clear?"  
  
Both girls whispered between them and nodded promptly with whimsical, suspicious smiles. Piotr bit his lip, unconvinced of the reliability of that promise, signed by naughty and restless eleven-years.  
  
Teenagers weren't to be trusted.  
  
Fortunately the things were steadily quiet of late. The most of the threats and super villains were neutralized or vanquished without excessive hardships, trials or efforts, and the anti-mutant hysteria ran low. Shocking, amazing, but true. No long ago Logan stated off-handily over the phone that 'people is getting bored of hate us and fear us, bub". Maybe his former teammate was right. He would be glad of it.  
  
Partially because there weren't many X-Men to face the danger in these days.  
  
Nowadays Storm was the leader of a team composed of Beast, Archangel, Psylocke, Shadowcat, Nightcrawler, Banshee, Bishop, Forge and himself. It could seem an impressive rooster, a competent team, but in fact its numbers were decreased in one third. Several of the mightiest and best fighters were retired. Scott and Jean lived in Alaska and barely talked with someone, Alex and Lorna were lying low in their excavations, Remy and Rogue had moved to New Orleans after of their engagement, Logan was happily married with his old love, Mariko Yoshida, and Robert was aiding to the White Queen to train to Generation-X in Massachusetts, where studied currently Jubilee, the whirlwind of cheerfulness.  
  
Emma had assured her students -Jubilee, Husk, M, Skin, Synch, Chamber and Blink- would be ready to be appointed X-Men shortly, reinforcing efficiently the team. But theretofore the mansion felt to him pretty empty and lonely and eerie. The tranquillity was almost excessive, the silence foreboding. Ominous. The kind of peace precedes to the storm. Some accused him of being a natural fatalist, always looking forward to the worst possible case, but he preferred call to himself a realist. And he rarely was disappointed.  
  
Patting his unruly sister on the head, Piotr headed to the fridge to retrieve he called a frugal snack.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
Franklin Richards meandered along the shaded corridors of his home, enveloped in still silence and lightless shadows. In his restless wandering the young boy pondered he really should be tucked in his soft and warm covers and deeply asleep, snoring even (although his mother chastised him often for it, assuring polite kids don't make that). Definitely he shouldn't be lurking out of his bedroom, facing the darkness and risking triggering the alarm systems or waking up his parents. He couldn't decide what would be more perilous and death defying.  
  
But he couldn't manage sleep or dream. He couldn't even close the eyes or lie back on the bed. And the boy knew why he was so fidgety and insomniac. Someone was calling him. A perturbation inside his head, practically one grieving plead, an entity stirring awake his thoughts and whispering faintly in his ear. So insistent, so compelling, he was forced to answer.  
  
Usually he would shut down the voices, make his best to ignore it or call to his dad. For all he knew Doctor Doom, Annihilus or Psycoman could be luring him in a snare. Other ill advised ambush to hunt to the Richards boy and bait to the Fantastic Four in the customary deadly trap.  
  
But the presence didn't ring evil in it. Whoever it was Franklin didn't feel the stench of evil of the Doctor Doom, fetid and rotten and terrific, but more like Namor's, arrogant and harsh but honorable and no really bad deep down. It even reminded him of Galactus -Oh, my!- but that giant wouldn't wake up a poor kid at the three o'clock in the morning. He hoped. And prayed.  
  
And above all he felt spent-up and impatient. If someone wanted a fight or a chat, let him or her to get it.  
  
He strode towards one window, being painstakingly careful of no activating any device, and swished open the glass. Franklin stepped gingerly onto the windowsill and leapt out unconcernedly. Unbeknownst to him, his own power kept intact the temperature and chemical composition of the atmosphere, and silenced the noise of his shuffling pace and quiet breath, thus tricking the numberless sensors of the building.  
  
Sheer will locked again the window, and he floated freely outside of the Freedom Four Tower. His body slightest than the air drifted harmoniously, carried away for the hissing wind blow and streamed across New York. He paused few seconds to admire and gape at the beauty of nightly sky, doted with milky spots of light above and below, and hovered peacefully alongside the walls, soaring up to the roof.  
  
He landed with an imperceptible thud, and stared ahead.  
  
A lonely figure was hunched on the dusty ground of bricks, lit up for the glistening starlight. Or maybe shining with glowing starlight, he thought with one strange impulse.  
  
"You can come now, Franklin" She -because the voice was feminine- uttered dimly. Softly. Her hand was tracing lazy drawings on the specks of dust. He gulped and approached with a steady pace.  
  
As he neared the figure did no further motion or gesture, prone on the floor and drumming her fingers on the plaster. Franklin joined to the unfamiliar shape and gasped, stunned of not having recognized her before. But she didn't ripple equal to his psychic senses.  
  
She was the woman he had known long ago, but at once wasn't exactly her. There was something odd and twisted, even wrong and dangerous in her. A passion long time repressed, after unbridled and right now quelled down. Darkness dwelled in her but wasn't her. It was like seeing to his mother changed in Malice.  
  
Cool. That was a SCARY thought.  
  
"Good night, Mrs. Summers" He greeted customarily, ever the polite and kind boy. She nodded with a private smile, observing his manners and approving of them.  
  
"Good night, Franklin. You don't have to get afraid" She breathed/mumbled, perhaps reading his mind, perhaps only eyeing at his expression. "No that you were in first place. You are a very brave kid. I wish I had been just so bold at your age. Maybe I can use that force in the future to go through what I must do."  
  
There was something amiss in the way she said 'use'. His hairs stood on theirs ends hearing that tone. "What did you call me for?"  
  
Instead clarifying she gazed at the stars for a long while. "Tell me, kid. Do you love to you family?"  
  
He blinked. What kind of question was that? "Of course yes!"  
  
His voice was outraged. She disregarded it. "And would you do anything to protect them?"  
  
Franklin lowered his head, his eyes darkening. "I have done already."  
  
"Then you will be capable of understanding my plight." She averted down her eyesight. "One of those forces of the evil we battled regularly has injured to my husband. It has wreaked havoc in his head, and has damaged him badly. He isn't the same of always. He is destroyed and not knowing what do or how live with it. He has shut me out. It is killing him, and seeing it is killing me. He is so hurt and confused..." Her voice trailed off. She lowered her shields a tiny fraction, letting him feel her bottomless misery, awful grief and shuddering lament. Franklin shivered, chilled to the bone. "There is one way to fix everything. I can make the world better, but... I need you help, kid. Please, Franklin, help me."  
  
He sucked air. The chilled air turned frosty of sudden. "You want my powers."  
  
It wasn't a question, and Jean didn't answer.  
  
"I'm so sickening tired of my powers." He muttered balefully. "All want something with them. Some want to manipulate me, others hurt me. Many people hate me or get fear of me. Even my dad and mom. I can't bear being used."  
  
She nodded. Guilt was eating her. "I can relate. Don't give me that look, kid, I know what it is like. My husband, my children, myself... my whole family has been used since ever for people lusting for our powers. We have been used and harassed in the everlasting war between the good and the evil, pawns or puppets exploited for both sides. Goodwill or not, everyone always hoped or needed or required something in return, even if it was in gratitude of good-natured kindness. We have been pushed to give all, until there was no more left to give." She paused for a second. "My parents also hate and fear my powers, you know. They'd have liked my telepathy disappeared."  
  
Silence pervaded the air. "And why do you want use me then, since you know what it is like?"  
  
"Look it from this viewpoint. If someone who you love suffers, wouldn't you try to help that person? If your parents were arguing, fighting and hurting at each other the entire time with no stopping, wouldn't you want them cease? And if you had the power, the way and the will to help them and make them happy wouldn't you take it?"  
  
She paused, letting to Franklin mulling over her words. Slowly Jean tapped her temple with the forefinger. "If you want you can see into my head what this is all about. But I don't recommend it. It can be dangerous and you can witness things no little child should contemplate or know of ever."  
  
She took down her own shields, waiting for his decision and concealing her uneasiness. He stared at her, measuring her up and down with unreadable expression. A rash choice was done.  
  
With a brusque and swift movement, he plunged with stalwart and bold fearlessness in her skull, and dove cautiously in her mind.  
  
He recoiled back in his body, an amazed and horrified gasp parting his lips. He wheezed, getting back his breath, glad of being out and back there. His eyes were widely open and bulged in shock.  
  
"I warned you it could be a bad idea. I'm sorry, Franklin."  
  
He studied her with a pensive stare. So that was the deal. She needed a reality-bender, and the former and technically proper was in unknown whereabouts. Perhaps out of time and space. Hence she searched another to fill those shoes. And he was mightiest than Mr. Rasputin, way mightiest than anybody or almost anybody in reality.  
  
It was weird. The ordeal of Mr. Summers reminded him vaguely of his father, trapped in the armor of the Doctor Doom, being corrupted and brainwashed by it. The difference was the process didn't finish with the removal of the mask covering him. He couldn't get rid of it. The monster kept being in his head, messing him, torturing him, breaking him, and sullying him. And he was torn apart.  
  
He remembered dimly to Mr. Cable. He had helped to his mom against Onslaught and shortly after he had helped him to survive, summoning the hides of persons he had loved and seen die. He was right like him, differences of age aside. Chased, kidnapped and nearly killed due to whose he was son. He had been used, abused and manipulated around for people, whether good ones or bad ones, cause of powers he didn't choose posses, energies capable of turning the planet into a husk of barren rock.  
  
He recalled more obscurely to Phoenix, the redhead lady could have been his girlfriend in other world -albeit Hyperstorm had freaked him outright-. She had been harassed too. She reminded him of Valeria, curiously. The elder girl who had turned up suddenly one day, coming from nowhere, claiming they were her family, only to get rejected among sorrowful sobs.  
  
On the whole, Franklin understood to Mrs. Summers with a very dangerous sort of kinship. She could be very distraught, but likewise he'd be. And God knows he would be willing doing anything to save to his dad if he was suffering so much. Even use his 'gift'. Besides, still he was shuddering after of his visit into her head. Infant he was but he knew a mindscape usually revealed the state of sanity or mental illness.  
  
And he had wafted on a sludgy morass polluted with black grief and oozing bleakness. There were pools of light still where swirled hope and joy, but they were few and the corruption was engulfing them hastily. Gaping pits and swirling whirlpools disrupted the waterline. And he had dared to peek into them.  
  
Those pits of darkness dwelling in her frightened him. However he had been amazed when he saw one thing in her head: she was thoroughly sickened for going to him. Use an innocent boy was something turned her guts with nausea. She was wondering what she would do if he denied, since she didn't want slave him and hurt him like her own son had been. She was tempted of grabbing him anyway, but it was being squashed for her conscience. She was hesitant of what her choice would be, and it scared her.  
  
"I can't count how many bad guys have wanted using my power. I've never been something else than a mean to an end, a weapon or an obstacle to many people, except to my parents and uncles, and they have feared me all along. You aren't the first in wanting making profit of them" He stopped, piercing her with a noncommittal peer "but you are the first in caring for my opinion. In fact I don't remember someone has pleaded or asked for my opinion in the matter ever. And less utilized 'please'."  
  
She beamed. "Thanks"  
  
Franklin twiddled his thumbs. He wished his father got up there to explain him the right choice, but he was alone. He could count on his judgment only. "If" He stressed the word "I collaborate with you, what will happen to my family?"  
  
She laid a reassuring hand on top of his own and looked straight at his blue eyes, shaded on the night. "I vow you I'll not hurt them, damage, or harm ever. Actually I promise you, Franklin, I'll take care of you being together and getting along well. The Fantastic Four were our friends long before you were born. And, after all, we are family too in one very wacky, convoluted and twisted sort of way."  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
In the next chapter we learn more things of the life in the mansion and the history of that time. And in the interlude, the second gathering of The Twelve, and the second clash between Cyclops and Dark Phoenix.  
  
And in the ninth part, everything will be fully cleared and explained. Yes, I said EVERYTHING. 


	8. Part Eight

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes:  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Eight-  
  
Charles Xavier was engrossed in sorting out the sheaves of unclassified paperwork scattered throughout his desk when the hushed noise of the door opening and soft footsteps walking on the carpet drew his thoughts. A very familiar and dear presence sauntered in his office, and he smiled broadly. He didn't require his telepathy to recognize to Moira in his unexpected visitor. He looked up and at the Scottish, middle-aged woman, so beautiful like always even with the grey streaks showing among her auburn locks. She was sporting a nice smile on her face, undeterred by the crow's feet, and an envelope in her hand.  
  
"Hi, Charlie. Have one second to spare to me? I can come back later if you're too busy"  
  
Charles Xavier took his spectacles with a radiant grin splitting his face. "I have always time to my friends, Moira. Especially when in theirs kindness they lend me an excuse to put off bureaucratic job."  
  
His old friend ogled dubiously to the wads of papers typed with tiny print. Blurry rows and columns of names, numbers, percentages and additions filled them endlessly. Revenue stamps and scrabbled signs were imprinted everywhere. "Crazy man" She wiggled an accusatory forefinger "Your eyes will fall out of their sockets when or if you accomplish to go through this."  
  
"Being that the reason because no one else wants or intends make it. Everyone prefers I make the sacrifice. Except Robert, but he only works with taxes, filling forms, writing accounts and doing the records of the school." He replied with amusement. "What did you want talk with me about, Moira? Is it about Rhane?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, she's doing it terrific in the college." Moira waved up her hand and the Charles eyes locked on the envelope with whimsical curiosity. The upper side was torn. "Terry has sent one letter. Well, she sent it to Sean, but I'm allowed snoop about."  
  
"Oh" The telepath said blankly, reclining lazily his back on the chair and entwining his hands. Moira rolled up her eyes. He could be pretending mild interest or passivity, but she knew better. Not matter how many years had passed by, still irked him his second generation of students had chosen one most violent and most radical interpretation of his dream.  
  
"She tells they are doing it fine in San Francisco, but the place is, quote 'too monotonous and dull' unquote. They have been arguing about head to more conflictive regions, where they can fix the troubles before they degenerate in disasters."  
  
"Great. Their judgment seems very sound. And Sam, Bobby, Danny, Tabitha, James, Julio, Shatterstar?"  
  
"She talks a lot about them, mainly about Jimmy. I believe she likes him." Moira locked eyes with him, leveling him with a piercing gaze. "It is about time you let them go, Charlie."  
  
He sighed. "I try, Moira, believe me. It was their choice and my duty of teacher is respect it. They aren't kids anymore. However still hurts see your children flying off the nest."  
  
She was about of reply something kind and reassuring when the door of mahogany slammed open again. Ororo Munroe stepped into with her usual serene stride -only she knew how seem so graceful and casual at once-. Her chocolate-brown skin and her snow-white, one-piece uniform glimmered richly with the last sunrays.  
  
"Good evening, Moira. Excuse me, I didn't know I was intruding" She stared questioningly at her mentor.  
  
"No at all, Ororo. By the way, this magnificent sunset is your work?" Charles stated casually, pointing behind of him. The square glass panes were lightened for the beginnings of the dusk. The day was dying, and choose perish with an orgy of colors. The sky was streaked with bright flares of golden, orange, red, violet and indigo, casting their intricate patterns of lights and shadows across the country.  
  
"You flatter me undeservedly, Charles. The merit belongs fully to the nature and its own inherent beauty." She walked towards the desk and handed him over a folder. "This is the summary of the last reports and news. Miss Cooper has supplied kindly with some of them."  
  
The Professor unclipped attentively the portfolio and started to turn leaves, examining the reports with his customary expression of thorough focusing.  
  
"After of our last skirmishes the terrorist organization FOH has decreased drastically its activities" Ororo quoted. "After of the Graydon's death they have seen their flow of money dramatically cut. With lesser budget to their criminal activities and with the recent governmental animosity after of the attempts of Oklahoma they lack of money to finance their activities and of popular approval to back up them."  
  
"Any movement, political, ideological, terrorist or whatever needs money to function in a permanently basis." Moira sentenced off-handily, like an afterthought voiced aloud.  
  
"Exactly. On the other hand Shaw has reappeared and relieved to his son of his CEO role. Of course that is the edited version the newspapers have just broadcast. The translation is Sebastian wasn't dead after all, has crushed and humbled to Shinobi before of taking back his Black King's garb, and now is mustering forces and resources to fight us. Fortunately for our sake, nowadays he is engaged in saving his firm of the bankrupt, so it can give us a respite before of the outbreak of the war."  
  
Charles nodded. "Indeed it's an excellent new, but we can't rely on it. We have to be prepared and expect anything at anytime. Go on, please."  
  
"There has been Acolyte activity in Genosha and the Middle East. It seems that Fabian Cortez is resurfacing again. His mob is nothing but an incompetent and bloodthirsty pack of coward murderers, but they are dangerous and attack places like hospitals, schools and orphanages. They kill innocent and helpless people and give bad press to mutants everywhere. I recommend their obliteration without delay."  
  
"I'm absolutely in agreement with you, Ororo. Schedule training sessions. Devise strategies to attack them, and after run them with me. The sooner arrangements are done the better. By the way, and Erik?"  
  
The Ororo's lips corners tugged upwards. "I was going with it now. Magnus has declared again having nothing to do with Cortez, and after of expressing his nonchalance regarding the Earth, and his boredom and intolerance regarding politicians and authorities he has expelled out of his home to the SWAT troops were questioning him. I opine was very unkind and rude treat so badly to persons who traveled all the way up to his asteroid to speak with him. Afterwards he has made a very long-distance call to SHIELD and us to comment his patience is ebbing and he DOESN'T wish by any means get bothered or importuned."  
  
Moira clicked her tongue in distaste. "Those dimwit morons are going to piss off him for real one of these days. If Erik has wanted remaining confined in his chunk of stellar rock since he left the X-Men, who we are to bug him during his retirement? Right, Charles? Charles, are you fine?"  
  
The Professor was suddenly prone on the wooden board, squeezing his temples with a wretched expression of pain. He looked up and around to see Moira and Ororo were instantly by both of his sides, scrutinizing his face in alert for the slightest sign of suffering. Actually the Scottish doctor was touching his forehead, checking it in search of signs of fever.  
  
He rubbed softly his eyelids. "Calm down, please. It is nothing. I'm feeling suddenly very tired and dizzy, that's all. Fretting and getting worried about me is an utterly needless waste of your time and energies."  
  
Moira felt his eyebrows twitching, nearing perilously to her hairline. He might be neither sweaty nor clammy but still his gall was... "Don't lecture about health to one doctor, Charlie. You need rest."  
  
He shook his head, but the lingering daze clouding his mind wasn't so kind of obliging him and fading away. A throbbing headache hammered his brain, insistently. "You are right, Moira. I'm going to sleep. I'm sure of I'll be feeling reasonably better tomorrow morning."  
  
"I'll run and check over analysis in the morning nonetheless" The auburn woman sentenced, ruthless and unyielding.  
  
"Of course, Moira."  
  
"Charles Francis Xavier being reasonable about doctors in health matters? Wonders will never cease." She remarked, mollified albeit no placated. With a last sidelong glance she headed at the door.  
  
Ororo smiled and bid her good-byes likewise, leaving him alone to rest.  
  
When the door slammed shut and the sound of footsteps along the hallway receded, he allowed to himself exhale the breath he had been holding back. He motored tiredly at the door linking his office with his bedroom.  
  
At the end he had been caught. Moira and the rest had to have been pretty engaged in their own troubles and lives so his façade withstood so long.  
  
Since weeks ago he was feeling remarkably unwell. More tired, more restless, more uneasy and edgy. It was like if anything was no right or out of place, and his unsettled mind rebelled against it. Or maybe tried giving him a message. But for his life he couldn't figure out what was wrong. His students were alive and fine, and many had matured and started their own lives. The world was in relative and momentary peace, a peace not threatened with omens of incoming storms, and the society was giving short steps in the correct direction. They were working hard and well, and his lifetime's work was fructifying at last. They were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
Then what on the Earth was his trouble? Couldn't he accept the good things without fussing over them? Sometimes he seemed more pessimistic than Erik himself did.  
  
He wished to Jean was here. She helped him always, prompt and quick to give a kind word, a nice smile, a smart speech or an encouraging pat on the back. It was selfish hoping she was permanently to his disposal to understand him and cheer him up, but... She knew him better than anybody, and if she was available he would have explained her about his headaches and his concerns long ago. Jean had absorbed it as a sponge, just like when they were professor and spunky student. Then she would calm him down, soothe his fears or share her own. She was a medicine to him. Unjust, callous, but true.  
  
Unfortunately Jean hadn't talked with him for a long time. She hadn't been even permanently in the mansion for years now. And Scott had left with her. When all was said and done they had chosen to each other before than him. And reluctantly he had to acknowledge it irked him with irrational rancor. It was a fool thing to feel, but that acknowledgment didn't erase it, although he wouldn't let that obnoxious and absurd emotion to spoil his relationship with them. However he was pained their first and best disciples were living in the furthest and most faraway area of the country, and didn't bother in contacting or phoning periodically at least. They weren't interested in him or the Dream anymore.  
  
They just came when there was some emergency and left immediately afterwards, too hurried to talk. They perpetually passed up the chance of kept in touch, not taking it even when they could. He had been incredibly shocked, amazed and hurtful when he found out -and thanks to John and Elaine for the Christ's sake- they had been every so often in New York and neither warned nor visited the mansion.  
  
Perhaps had Jean taken a dislike for him? During the fewer times they had exchanged pleasantries she looked like stiff and tense, and he believed recognizing new fear, old resentment and fresh fury simmering on her. No, that was preposterous and scurrilous. He hadn't done anything to earn her anger or fear.  
  
Except no aiding her when she needed to HIM desperately, when she was winding down a spiral of madness, a descent to the Hell ended up when she committed suicide to save the last shreds of her humanity. When she returned from the death yet again he was wandering around the universe, and when he turned to the Earth they hadn't talked things over. Merely had defeated to the Shadow King in Muir. No words, no idle chat, only harsh strategies and fight. And shortly after she and Scott flew to Alaska, leaving plenty matters unresolved.  
  
His mind drifted towards other paths, but the issue kept on nagging him. He tried and reflected in other situations, but always he returned to Jean. He realized the buzzing in his head was less aching when he pondered on Jean. Perhaps his situation with her was really what was troubling him, altering the picture. Or was anything else? He wasn't sure. However his instincts aimed determinedly at that direction.  
  
In the bowels of shadows of his pitch-dark chamber, and dressed in his bedclothes, Charles Xavier tucked up the layers of sheets of his bed and closed his eyes, letting to his mind mulling in his worries. And dreaming about them.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
INTERLUDE  
  
The massively wide pillar of raw unbridled power blasted slowly upwards, winding as a swirling whirlpool of energy, to exit through the skylight and spear the atmosphere with its brightness. It resembled a monstrous column, chimney or funnel. The crackling blazes of energy stirred winds of hundreds of miles per hour and whipped mercilessly the ageless dunes around of the ancient pyramid.  
  
The chamber was a furnace of shimmering light, an oven of blistering heat, a hearth of crackling lightnings, bursting out of the central contraption and rippling in a tidal wave of light and racket and chaos. Ten figures were hovering above of a ring-like device, trapped within transparent spheres hooked with each other by tendrils of electricity. Theirs despaired screams filled the chamber as they deployed vainly their vast powers to escape.  
  
That maelstrom was contemplated for one person. Satisfaction and insane mirth dawned on her face. She was clad with an one-piece spandex suit of very dark red color, with gloves, leggings and sash of bright golden color, as well as golden was a bird-shaped symbol emblazoned on her chest. However the shimmering glow of the chamber was coloring her body with a hue of luminous ivory.  
  
Jean observed enthralled the scenery with odd and whimsical complacence, feeling a bizarre glee bursting in her belly. She didn't understand why she was finding so outright funny that sight, the one of the machine her heart once cursed. Or the clamors and outbursts of the battle raging out of the grave for that matter. She discarded those reflections while her legs drove her towards it. She was linking hands with a blonde kid, almost a toddler, whose image provoked shock gasps and horror cries.  
  
They reached the round rim of the mechanism, in front of one of the two empty spots. She grasped softly his tiny fingers, waiting with well-disciplined patience his decision.  
  
"Go ahead, kid" She beckoned pleasantly, ignoring blatantly the screeches of her preys.  
  
"Will my family be all right? Won't you hurt them?" Franklin queried for the last time.  
  
"Of course not, kid." She assured with a wink. "We have a deal. And I fulfill my promises." Unlike other people, she added mentally.  
  
Ignoring to the grownups and theirs warning exclamations, Franklin hopped determinedly the step, landing onto the platform. Right away a crystalline sheen coalesced around his body, shaping an energy globe. Shutting his blue eyes he kneeled down and glued weakly his palms on the barrier. His digits sparkled with blinding light, and he felt his power drained through his skin. The vortex speeded up its relentless spinning, hungry and ravenous of more feeding. Jean smirked blithely.  
  
"Goddess, Jean. How have you could sink to yourself so low to use a little child?" She listened the cry and frowned. She spun briskly towards the source, narrowing her eyes. They glinted with a frosty coldness unknown to the ones once were her friends.  
  
"Ororo, do you think truthfully I could have pushed him or forced? Do you think I didn't beg him, explaining him what I wanted and needed? Do you think he isn't doing this out of his own free will?"  
  
All shut up, dumbfounded with that piece of information. With the idea of the Fantastic Four's heir agreeing to this. Every of them, except one.  
  
"Please, Jean, cease this madness! I don't know what has pushed you over your edge to do this, but you have to stop before it goes too far! Please, trust in us and stop to yourself. You need help."  
  
Jean shot at him a scornful, burning glare. How did he dare? "It's a possibility. But why do you opine you can give me? You never did. In fact, the last time I listened to your advice, I became a mourning widow. Never again. This time I'm taking matters in my own hands, Professor."  
  
Charlse Xavier gulped, determined to try again "I know it isn't you speaking. It's the power, warping your mind" He prodded pleadingly, willing reaching her. "Can't you see what it is doing you? You have given in your lowest and darkest instincts! And now you are using the Apoca-"  
  
He didn't go further. His head rocked backwards with the momentum of the telekinetic slap.  
  
"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" She roared. "I don't want hear pronounced one syllable of that accursed name ever again! Understood?"  
  
Everyone cringed and shrunk in their prisons. Her eyes were now bloodshot instead blank, her jaws were grinding together, her lips were curled in a foaming snarl, and her fists were balled. She was about of blowing up in seething rage. And although they weren't the cause, they were convenient scapegoats.  
  
Jean breathed heavily, laboriously, with ragged gasps. Emotions choked her, strangled her. She gave them the evil eye. "That vermin was a foolish, short-sighted, conceited, rotten bastard, who thankfully will be burning during thousand eternities in the Hell's ovens. And he had no idea of what means the power, which is its true nature and its possible uses. On the other hand I do, and I know what I want."  
  
Magneto, who had been deadly silent so far, bored his eyes in her. "Which is your goal, Jean?"  
  
Jean paused, meditating the question. Her eagle-like eyes surveyed very seriously the shaky crowd. She knew beyond any doubt that they would attack her with no hesitation if they were released. It was nice knowing how meaningless were the friendship bonds when she and her own might were involved.  
  
"I hate this world." She muttered darkly. "I hate this fight for saving to this fucking spinning world never sets right and to people who would rather see my throat slit for no reason. I hate this godforsaken excuse for a timeline where honorable persons as John Proudstar die while fuckers as Nefaria get to live to destroy more lives again and again. And fundamentally, mainly and certainly hate this stupid, fucking death-trap you called dream!" She bellowed.  
  
"I hate having devoted my life to shadows and smoke, to risk and perish and bleed for an ill world and people who hates and fears me. I loathe having given all for it to lose it all, sacrificing my life and my happiness and handing over parts of my soul until being rendered to an empty husk. My husband lived his entire life to achieve that fantasy. He fought and battled and struggled, marched thousand times to the battlefield where he was beaten, broken, shattered, torn, wounded and scarred. He saved this planet hundreds of times, and was just so often on the brink of getting killed for protecting the innocents. The world owes him an unimaginable debt. And look which was the payment in return! Look what it did him! Look to my children, lost in the time, sent through the darkness and the insanity, through war and suffering and death and hatred, raped and abused for theirs powers. Look to me and to my life, turned into a nightmare. I'm goddamned sick of grieving and weeping and agonize over it! AND. I. WANT. IT. STOP! I'm going to use yours powers to recreate this world, like or not!"  
  
She went up in flames, a predator and choleric Phoenix spreading blazing wings behind her, with its claws open and craving for killing. An eerie silence followed on her words. The only sound were the cracks and hisses of the energy gathering and coiling in a funnel, the Earth quaking with the sheer power unleashed on such reduced space, and the outside mayhem. A wild chorus of angry shouts, ear-shattering discharges of energy, rocks and rubble exploding and metal clanging against metal.  
  
Jean smirked, satisfied. She had never grasped the reason of why the villains hired always severely incompetent manpower to support their operations, instead expert soldiers. Those troops used to be clumsy and brainless minions never lasted one round against a superhero, even with blatant and crushing superiority of numbers. But now she knew.  
  
They constituted wonderful and expendable cannon fodder, and there wasn't real danger of mutiny. And right now her cannon fodder was holding up to the X-Men, blocking their way and hindering their arrival to the pyramid. They would lose eventually, of course, but she was gaining precious time. Moreover, she had programmed them to give them a good workout.  
  
Who did know Sentinels might turn out to be useful?  
  
However they had to allow one specific X-Man trespassed the barricade and broke into the stronghold. Install that set-up hadn't been easy. She needed devise and bring about a situation where only he got the chance of walking into and he decided act alone, without realizing the snare or no caring for it. Besides she required foresee what route he was liable to follow. And foretell his path was the tricky part. She could have inspected the forsaken citadel, but he possessed the memories of its builder. But if push came to shove, she had an edge: She knew him better than he gave her credit for.  
  
Hence she raised a hand swiftly.  
  
One split-second later a bulwark exploded, drilled by a scarlet column of energy. The unstoppable blast powdered the stone into debris, sliced the air and rammed in a seamless telekinetic barrier, which shielded efficiently the grotesque device. The blast struggled against the shield, pushing with mountain-splitting power to shatter it, but it lost force and dissipated. Straight after a thin red beam darted at Jean, who neither sidestepped nor protected to herself. Moreover, she hardly stared at it with boredom. The bolt went through her body, piercing it like if she was a ghost made of fluid air.  
  
Dark Phoenix snickered. That display had been pity. The bolt had been meant to stun, but it had been his weakest, and besides he had held back his strength. It couldn't have fazed her or winded even.  
  
Her legs pivoted slightly to face once and for all the last and more important piece of her jigsaw.  
  
When the force blast shattered the stone wall, it split open a wide gap amidst of the wall. Rocky debris of ashlars and metallic shrapnel lay scattered on its foot now. And he stood upright on the entrance, panting laboriously. The tight black leather outfit was filthy with dust and cobwebs and his visor shimmered with red glints. The bright light of the column was bathing his body and lightening his face.  
  
Scott shuffled into the chamber, treading among the powdered and crunched boulders, and he faced her reluctantly. She noted the tension shaking his taut muscles, an uptightness he tried hiding. Unfortunately his facial muscles tightened and his lips ground together with strain and fear. Jean shook her head and giggled as a schoolgirl to mask the longing she felt staring at him.  
  
"It's been a while, darling. You wouldn't hope seriously that I hadn't figured out your plan, right? Or what I would permit the machine was damaged." She scoffed in a bantering tone, tilting her head.  
  
Scott studied her quietly, observing the way her hand combed her long locks, the reposed and tranquil motions of her legs shifting the stance, the lewdness of her fingers curling idly crimson strands.  
  
"Please, Jean, surrender." He begged "Don't force me to do anything I'll regret for the rest of my life."  
  
He lifted his hand up to his visor. It twinkled ruby dangerously.  
  
Jean blinked. Her lips curved in a grin. She sputtered, then snickered, then guffawed, and then burst in laughs. Her clamorous, hysteric chuckles sounded nearly to nutty cackles. Scott started to get freaked, when she managed restrain to herself. Her body kept quivering with the bout of laughter, though.  
  
Without looking at him, Jean moved her hands to the center of her chest, over the golden banner. Her fingers grabbed a fistful of the fabric and with a vigorous yank she ripped a tear right above of the sternum, displaying her creamy skin. Scott backed down, unsure of where this was going at.  
  
She hurled him a mocking and dream-like gaze, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. "Go right ahead. My heart is just here so you have a clear target. I'm waiting."  
  
He reeled backwards, like if someone had slapped him. His face was ashen and aghast. In answer Jean chortled with so much frenzy her eyes watered. She dried them off with a swift swipe, and glowered.  
  
"Who are you trying kidding to, Scott? You can't kill me as well as I can't kill you. And both of us know that" Jean scowled. "Not even in the Moon you aimed a single straight beam at me. You couldn't hurt me. Why did you think this time would be different?"  
  
Abruptly her arm darted onwards and the golden visor of sudden flew of its own volition towards her, hopping in her open palm. Instantly Scott shut his eyes tightly, and covered his face with a forearm. He was so predictable, Jean thought. And now he was powerless and impotent as a newborn.  
  
"Yet I'm not so naive of believing I've defeated you so easily. I'm sure you planned some twisted maneuver to stun me or cheat me, didn't you?" Jean stated while walked towards him. "Of course still you can win. Simply open your eyes now and unchain your full power on me." Her lips mused softly. She saw him cringing, squirming with shudders, and she felt dread and horror flowing from him. It delighted her.  
  
"Imagine" She purred huskily. "Slam open your eyelids, unleashing an unstoppable force blast. When the glow dims there will be a bloody pulp on the floor, a gory and writhing mass of splattered flesh and broken bones, swimming on a pool of oozing blood. And amidst of that mass you will find the crunched remains of my face. My eyes will be glazed and lifeless, stained with mottles of red, nailing an accusatory stare on you. Then the idea of having slain me mercilessly will catch with you. And you will scream."  
  
Hectic tremors shook his body. "Give me back the visor, please."  
  
Jean laughed, and her arm drew an arc on the air. The esteemed gadget brushed his chest with the brisk lightness of a soft feather. "Your toy is right in front of you. If you want it, just take it." She tainted with a hoarse voice masked the sound of metal shattering, crushed by a clenched fist.  
  
Lost in helplessness, Scott spread his arm onward and hesitantly groped for his visor. Amazingly, Jean grasped delicately his hand and led him gently forward. Scott gasped when he touched something very soft and spongy. Realizing what it was he pulled out, but she didn't allow him. Her hand clutched his backhand, forcing it to fondle her, and her other hand grabbed his crown and drew him in a hungry kiss.  
  
In the blink of an eye, their shapes blurred and vanished in a flash of bright light. They faded in the existence in other distinct chamber.  
  
What the hell- Scott thought, having noticed the disturbing shift of his molecules.  
  
Don't worry for it, love. Very soon you will be beyond of the point of concern He listened into his head. It didn't bode him well, and Scott didn't know whether get scared or elated.  
  
With a private, inward smirk, Jean rested both hands on his cheeks, holding him in his place with her telekinesis. She had craved badly this for months. She shoved her face on his passionately, with that yearning long bottled-up, and her lips devoured greedily his mouth, sucking air out of his lungs. Her tongue slid between his glistening lips and sneaked into his mouth.  
  
Scott tried to resist it, wrestle against the longed for sensations traveled up and down his body, sparking and flaring up feelings he believed lobotomized or long-lost. But she smelt and tasted so good and the feeling was so heavenly and it woke memories so sweet he was overwhelmed. Her mouth was hot, incredibly hot. Her lips and tongue burnt, and he believed burn with it.  
  
Then it dawned him. He was burning! Blistering fire erupted out of her and penetrated inside his body through his mouth. A stream of lava flowed down his esophagus as a blaze-made serpent, charring all in its path, including his flesh. He struggled frenetically for wrenching away, but she held him strongly. Jean went up in hot-melting flames, and the fire embraced his body. He was swallowed whole.  
  
Scott believed die for a moment, but he didn't. To his surprise, he kept on living, in spite of the searing fire engulfing him. He then noticed the flames consuming him were painful, very painful, but no lethal. It doesn't feel like if he was dying actually. Rather shifting. But into what? And why?  
  
"Come on, honey. Let's burn together in the oblivion" She whispered huskily.  
  
Jean linked hands with him and levitated him onto a platform. She laid him down, put off the fire with one mere thought, and perused his likeness. He resembled a sacrifice placed on the altar and ready to be immolated. The fire had scorched and singed his outfit, rendering it to steaming, hot ashes. She swept them with a fanning of her hand, and crawled on the sturdy board. His closed eyes caught her attention.  
  
"By the way, you can open your eyes now. Your beams won't function here."  
  
His brows arched in disbelief. Slowly he lifted his lids, marveled when nothing happened, and surveyed his surroundings and himself. He looked to her, feeling uncomfortably aroused with his predicament. Jean chuckled and straddled on top of him.  
  
"You and me are so alike" She drawled "You like it, don't you? You enjoy with my dark side. You have fear of touching me, fright of feeling, dread of loving, but you love my shadows. It arouses you, turns on, and inflames you with lust, with craving, with lewdness. You worship my evil, the black abysses where I hid my worst bits. And you do because it means I'm not pure, an untouchable goddess, thus you can love me and desire me without sully me or pollute me. Burn together in the purificator fire, my love."  
  
After of repeating that phrase her hand suddenly bolted towards his head, placing around it a metallic crown. Scott touched gingerly the headband, giving her a quizzical stare. Jean shrugged.  
  
"It's a portable and individual version of the big junk-machine of the other room. Now stay still." With those last words, Jean leaned on him. Her flowing locks dropped on his chest and her limbs entangled around his body, wrapping him tightly. She claimed his lips and nibbled his taut neck.  
  
A whir and hum of the ring and the weakening sensation of his energy being sapped were the warning signals.  
  
The oval platform pulsated with sparks, flashed with light, glowed with brightness and crackled with lightnings. Shimmering glow engulfed them and Jean moaned when her body lit and shone with luminescence while energy started to coalesce around her and pumped into her body.  
  
Jean was shivering with an eerie mixture of agony and rapture, moaning in pleasure and pain at once. The power gathering had disintegrated her clothes and she was now clinging to Scott, maybe seeking shelter of the tempest of sensations assaulting her or maybe releasing her distress. Her slim frame arched over and over in wild frenzy and her fingers scratched red-brand scars on his shoulder plates. He screamed, but she merely trapped his tongue with her own. Then Scott glanced at her eyes, burning slits without pupils and charring with an inner fire of passion of love, hate and all in-between. Witnessing that inhuman, godlike countenance, he felt fear.  
  
Jean meanwhile believed die with every convulsion rocked her fragile human frame. As she ascended to the cosmic level, she was deadly horrified and anxiously expectant of the next evolutionary step.  
  
Telepathy. Telekinesis. Chrono-variancy. Absorption, storing, transformation and channeling of the energy. Force blasts. Heated plasma beams. Magnetism. Manipulation of weather. Manipulation of humidity and cold. Manipulation of fire and heat. Transformation of the reality.  
  
Her body was absorbing every of them, and her mind was expanding and seeing the universe in ways and concepts nobody could understand or grasp. Now she was All, and all was She. The crazy flood of images assailing her mind was unbearable, but Jean managed to cope with it and endure it. The only time she had felt such glory ever was in the M'Kraan Crystal.  
  
"Oh, yes. Yes!" She shouted, mad of pleasure and delight. She ground her body with the man beneath her, and peeped stealthily to Scott while her tongue licked her glossy and glistening lips, wet with drool. With a pang of regret she perceived and recognized the dread on his eyes, the chill on his heart.  
  
She pecked his cheek, showing him a loving gaze. "I shall never stop of caring for you, Scott. I'll make you happy. This I can vow you." Then she kissed him, and he kissed back.  
  
She motioned to herself and Scott in a seated position, and with a last gesture sent into Scott all the love, the devotion, the tenderness, the passion and the lust he provoked in her and she could show him. She felt his feelings throbbing behind of the thick layers of choking fear and aching pain and self-destructive doubts, and with her telepathy peeled each stratum one after other, erasing them and freeing his emotions.  
  
Suddenly the stone gate burst in rubble. The Twelve along with a tide of X-Men in tow bolted in the room, fighting stances at ready. Jean contemplated their faces before laughing loudly.  
  
"You are late, guys. I HAVE WON ALREADY!"  
  
And with that last shout of challenge and victory, the Phoenix spread her wings. And the chamber, the pyramid, the desert and the very reality shattered.  
  
Another replaced it. One preferred by Jean.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Eyes snapped open with a start, and he felt the impulse of lurching forward.  
  
The strong jerk of the dead weight was his lower body reminded him of his disability painfully. Another cruel moment where he recalled obligatorily he was perpetually, forever crippled. They happened daily every time he need help to go out of the bed or shower or descend the stairs. He hated them.  
  
Xavier prodded laboriously his trunk with his elbows, seating on his baldachin, and willing calm the frantic, shaken thumps of his heart. His windpipe seemed suddenly obstructed and his mouth was dry as sandpaper. He rubbed his temples, feeling the whirlwind of years of remembrances twisted, warped, altered or wiped rushing back in his brain, free of the long prison. It was like if a dam had cracked and a violent flood rushed out of the gates. Or, if his mind was right, it was like the breaking of the padlock sealing the Pandora's Box. Yes, that simile was more accurate.  
  
It wasn't a wonder his head ached.  
  
He started to rebuild his memory, patch his shields and reflect. Seconds added, turning in minutes. And these in hours.  
  
X-Men He summoned. We have a problematic situation  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Now do you know why Jean was so reluctant to visit to the Professor? It wasn't only because she was aware of his feelings but also because she knew a telepath as powerful as Xavier might remember she had altered the reality.  
  
Why Apocalypse intended to use a host and Jean didn't? Because whereas Nur needed a body capable of handling the power of the Infinite, the transformation in Phoenix implied shifting the body into energy for wielding properly such massive power. Cable and his doppelgangers kept theirs flesh-and-bone bodies, and thus theirs energies burnt them down. On the other hand Jean and Rachel haven't physical bodies and the energy doesn't damage them, albeit it messes dangerously with the minds. Hence Jean needed to nobody.  
  
The next chapter is the end! We return to Scott and Jean in Alaska. Jean gives full explanations to her family (including certain alternate relatives) before the X-Men arrive to force her to relinquish her new power. What will happen? All last secrets revealed! 


	9. Part Nine

*********************************************************************************  
  
The Second Ascension  
  
Author: Jenskott  
  
Summary: After of the Gathering of The Twelve the machine and the technology of Apocalypse was abandoned and forgotten in Akkaba. Suddenly the reality has changed drastically, without anybody realizing. What happened and who is the responsible? Can the X-Men stop and reassert the timeline in its path?  
  
Notes: Is there anyone reading this story yet? Please, write reviews. Pretty please. Give me feedback.  
  
This is the final chapter. I'm sorry for the long delay but the first draft wasn't to my liking. I reviewed and changed the story multiple times until it seemed acceptable, but I'm not satisfied yet. And I'm sure the dialogues needed a rework. By the way, there's innuendo in the last scene, but nothing graphic or explicit.  
  
Continuity: Comic.  
  
Disclaimer: X-Men belong to Marvel due to some sort of cosmic disaster. And writing nonsense disclaimers to disown stuff that all know aren't yours is boring.  
  
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. I can't stress enough how badly I need advice and supports. English isn't my primary language, so excuse my mistakes.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Part Nine-  
  
The roaring PACRAT rockets erupted with orange fire and acrid smoke as thrust the big airship across the blue firmament. The dark green flight rumbled like a thunder on the clear sky while skimmed over peaks of mounts and soared above of towns and woodlands.  
  
Inside the cockpit piercing eyes spotted a town. The pilot twisted the throttle, slowing down the plane, and glided around it until catching the glimpse of a cottage on the fringe of the village. He dove downwards the machine, straight over the nearest patch he found cleared off foliage and undergrowth.  
  
The airplane landed smoothly, and the pilot earned a mocking pat of praise on the shoulder.  
  
A lateral hatch whirred and clicked open. A ladder extended downwards until touching the virgin land. Four upright figures emerged out of the flight's bowels. A silver-haired, blue-eyed man, with his muscular bulk wrapped up with a parka. A breath-taking woman of raven hair and turquoise eyes, with skin extremely bleached except for an ebony patch around her left eye. A gorgeous young lady with hair of color of fiery blazes and eyes of cobalt blue, dressed with casual attire. And finally a young man striding stiffly, with a grim expression on his haunted blue eyes framed by lank golden hair.  
  
Nathan Summers and his crew hopped onto the green-carpeted ground, stepping on the tall and fresh pasture. Turning around, Cable extracted a remote control of his pocket and pressed briskly a button. The ladder retreated with a swish, and the gate snapped shut.  
  
"Are you sure nobody will steal the plane parking it over here?" Her violet-eyed lover quipped with a grin.  
  
"Don't worry, darling. This time I took the keys with me." Nathan answered sarcastically.  
  
"Glad of seeing you learn of your mistakes."  
  
While the humorous argument went on, Rachel stretched languidly her limbs, numb after of the travel, and inhaled deeply. A soft blend of scents of conifers, blossoming buds and wet earth filled her nostrils. Blood flowed along her limbs and an overwhelming relax took her over. She needed urgently a break from the lessons, classes and fickle department politics had been her life in Harvard for the last years. Of course her mutant power implied she didn't forget anything ever, and she took shameless advantage of the fact. Still she pondered often over the surrealism of being fretting about exams and assignments after of having lived through slavery, jails, wars and transdimensional shifts.  
  
Two rough albeit soft hands kneaded her sore shoulders and she purred pleasantly. College was tiresome, but Franklin was wonderful in erasing distress and frustrations. Wonderful, indeed. She giggled.  
  
"Any trouble, Red?" Her boyfriend wondered.  
  
"No one, Franklin. Don't worry." She beamed heartily.  
  
A gruff cough sounded hoarsely with urgency, cutting off their exchange. A massive shadow slid in the Rachel's vision field, imposing and mean-looking. She glanced sideways at his brother, her smile broken.  
  
"If you're done" He mouthed, laying one hand on her back. It felt smooth and warm. "We need get going."  
  
Rachel peered at his arms a second fraction. She knew both were hairy and of fleshy color, but also the left one was imperceptibly paler, more sensitive. "Okay" Her voice mumbled faintly in agreement.  
  
Nathan frowned, slightly puzzled with that abrupt gloominess, and was on the brink of repeating the same question Franklin had spelt earlier when Domino hooked around his thick arm. Being naturally more perceptive she had guessed the origin of the sudden concern that wrinkled the pretty redhead's face.  
  
"Don't worry by your brother, kid. The numskull controls the sudden power boost and I take care well of him in the meantime. A full-time job, be sure..."  
  
Nathan rolled up his eyes.  
  
"... But it has its rewards." Her eyes glinted with a shark-like gleam, and nobody asked. "Let's go or not?"  
  
With a nod the group walked out of the forest, stepping among branches and trunks, and headed towards the town. Before long they had reached the doorway of one two-flat cottage, on the border of the village.  
  
Nathan dawdled undecided in front of the threshold, meditating about what they were intending. Likewise he thought about the two kids. Were they going to meet with them? He felt a little uneasy around his counterpart, the boy he would have been without the techno-organic infection. And he figured out Rachel felt likewise staring to the toddler, a mirror image of her without scarring burdens of loss and suffering.  
  
Before his knuckles rapped the wooden surface of the brown door, it creaked open, and in the doorway stood Jean. Her giddy face was split by a bright and broad smile. "I thought I sensed you outside. Welcome, guys." She exclaimed and hugged with crushing force to her offspring, before shaking hands politely with Franklin and Domino. Without stopping of smiling fondly she ushered them eagerly in the house, mumbling against the cold.  
  
Domino started to feel a guilty discomfort and remorse.  
  
Nathan took off his parka, perching it on the rack next to the door, and she mimicked his action, all along eyeing enviously to her sort-of-sister-in-law and Frank. Their powers prevented them from silly things as hypothermia or even cold.  
  
"Actually neither Frank nor I abuse of our powers, but I didn't feel like fetching the warm clothing right now" Rachel blurted suddenly. Domino shot her a baleful glare, displaying she didn't appreciate at all she peered into her head, and the young redhead shrugged apologetically. "You were projecting. I'm sorry-"  
  
"Children!" Jean voiced "Put off the hostilities for now. Do you want anything to eat?"  
  
Rachel turned at her mother with sparkling eyes and clasped her hands together. "Pancakes with chocolate chips?"  
  
"Coffee to go along with it?" Nathan practically pouted, earning a nudge of his partner.  
  
Jean nodded with a smile, ignoring everyone else's groans. "Of course, darling. Follow me in the kitchen."  
  
The group went after her, trespassing the threshold of the kitchen. Jean pointed at the chairs surrounding the central table while she tied her apron and took the skillet. She picked up quickly the kitchenware and the ingredients, engaged in cooking the recipe as her family members plopped on the offered seats and stared at her silently. Nathan was nervously looking around, hoping to see someone.  
  
"Where is Slymm? And the kids?" He asked with curiosity.  
  
"I can answer you easily." A cheerful voice reverberated of sudden. They turned at the door. Scott.  
  
Leaning on the doorway he stood, staring at them with joy shimmering on his glowing-red pupils. There had been years, but Nathan and Rachel felt still bugged and uneasy every time his eyes laid on them without the shades shielding them. The crimson haze swirled on the pupils was very eerie.  
  
Scott strode in the room and patted to both of their children on the shoulders before claiming one seat. "I was filling paperwork when Jean warned me. Your brother is with his friends on the town and your sister is playing around with her puppy on the backyard. You could have called ahead, and they would be here."  
  
Nathan smiled back warily. "It wasn't necessary. Besides, I think the runts are afraid from us."  
  
"Nonsense. It's nice you came to see us, announced or not. By the way, did you come up with the idea of visiting out of the blue, or there's anything you wanted tell us?"   
  
"No reason." Nathan retorted swiftly. "Although I thought you ought to be working today."  
  
"I'm, but no in the office. I was swimming amidst a pool of papers flooding my desk when you arrived." He sighed, looking up to the ceiling's rafts with a wishful expression. "The paperwork shall kill me to boredom any day. If it wasn't for Jean and the kids I had applied for pilot instead of desk job without a second thought. But flights across Alaska are long and the children need his father in a daily basis."  
  
Jean half-spun to shoot him a mocking glare. "Your concern for my feelings is touching, sweetheart."  
  
"Neither I wanted spending long extends of time without you, honey, but I thought that was a matter of fact." He rebuked with an indignant huff. "Anyway my current job also allows fly from time to time. And my dear, sweet, witty, gorgeous wife knows make very worthwhile homecomings."  
  
"You tell me the sweetest things when I'm upset, darling" Jean laughed and turned to the stove. "Speaking of marital issues, are you fiancé taking care of you, Ray?"  
  
She clamped the Frank's hand under the table with a gleaming smile. "Yes. He's."  
  
Scott pinned to the boy with a suspicious glare, but he kept quiet his thoughts. Sometimes he felt a sort of overprotective paternal concern for the girl he spawned in other reality, who was living in other city with a man five years older than her, someone who he barely knew. But inwardly Scott was aware of she was a responsible grownup woman, and after all Frank was the Reed and Sue Richards' son. He had to trust in him and believe she took the right choice.  
  
"You were sharing a house in Cambridge, right?" He asked "How is the college?"  
  
"Terrific" Rachel remarked, and started to explain anecdotes of the life in the faculty.  
  
Meanwhile Jean was done with the pancakes and placed them on one tray. She levitated the batch towards the table as her hands grabbed two pots full of steaming-hot coffee -the one with hardened tar consistence was Nathan's- and she retrieved six mugs out of the cupboard. Using newly her telekinesis she delivered the monogrammed cups and served the coffee, handing over to Nathan his especial blend.  
  
Jean sat beside her husband and snatched a pancake. Now Scott and she were sat together, Nathan and Rachel across them, and Domino and Franklin on both sides, next to their respective other halves.  
  
Jean munched ravenously the spongy pastry, relishing on the sweet flavor, and looked to Rachel. However her mind wasn't in the tale, and barely she nodded in the proper times. She was reflecting there was something amiss in them. Today wasn't an especial day, and her family wasn't prone to spontaneous gatherings. Nate and Ray had to have agreed come to see them for some motive. But she didn't understand why Nathan denied it. Perhaps were they aware of an incoming danger, but they rejected frighten them? She considered voice her doubts but Nathan might believe they were grilling him. And if it happened, he'd turn as close-mouthed, wary and distrustful they wouldn't see or listen of him again for months.  
  
Jean waited patiently for the end of other story to turn at Nathan. "I wish you'd have come before, Nathan." She paused, rethinking her words, too noisy and inquisitive. "The last time we spoke you'd just purged out the virus and your powers were in a flux. But I'm glad of seeing you're fine and stable now."  
  
Nathan shook his head. Redd was always appallingly prying. "Don't worry. My powers worked erratically only at the beginning. However Dom has apparently decided until I don't prove better control any and every missions must be run over her before choosing take them or not."  
  
Jean turned at her son's lover. "Very well done. Albeit I know you don't need my approval, you have it regardless."  
  
"It is my pleasure, Jean."  
  
Both Summers men exchanged a glance of suffering. Scott sighed and regarded reflectively at Nate. "I recall you gave away once you toyed with the idea of a lawyer's office. Are you thinking about it yet?"  
  
"I had just to slip that, hadn't I?" The telepath muttered with a sad, self-mocking smile. Nathan rolled quietly the coffee cup on his hand, contemplating the black bubbles swimming on it. "The idea is nice, but I'm not sure of it. Bring mercenary into line with lawyer can be tricky. Maybe is soon to settle down."  
  
Domino scoffed, crossing her arms. "The stuff he doesn't say is he's afraid of I can't deal with it or anything. I don't know how get into his goddamned tough skull he mustn't get worried for that."  
  
"Typical Nathan" Rachel mumbled, as thieving a pancake whose ownership Frank was about of claiming.  
  
The conversation lasted a prolonged time, while they chatted about random topics and good old times. Meanwhile Nathan made up his mind. He would broach the trouble had led them to the North.  
  
"The Professor was talking telepathically with us hours ago" He uttered with studied imperturbability, as scrounged idly other morsel from the basket. "He was pretty altered."  
  
"Rattled is more like it" Rachel mused under her breath.  
  
"Hm?" Jean muttered, picking the breadcrumbs and wiping the mottles of chocolate smudged her lips' corners and chin. Scott glanced ahead, slightly interested.  
  
Nathan had never beaten around the bush well. Therefore, he decided go bluntly. "Have you warped the reality recently, Jean?"  
  
She whipped upwards her head, uttering a perplex "Uh? What are you talking about?"  
  
It sounded genuinely confused, but Nathan didn't miss the sudden way her body had swayed, with her arms stiffening gradually and her knuckles going white, a sign of the strain of her tightened fists.  
  
"He assured someone had warped the reality. And he named you, Redd."  
  
"Is he nuts?" She almost blurted the 'again' word. "This is preposterous. Why on the Earth would I do that? And how? All of us know I can't warp the space and the time."  
  
"Not even with the power of The Twelve?" Rachel mused with a sharpness belied her serene, noncommittal tone.  
  
However was that level and mollified voice, were those reserved and ambiguous words that triggered an answer in Scott. A vague reminiscence, a buried memory, something he preferred forgetting, sunk in the deepest and unfathomable bottom of his unaware subconscious.  
  
He stood frozen and motionless, sweat glistening on his temples and shivers coursing his body, while psychic barriers shriveled and wilted as a flower, and a flood of images overflowed his brain. Streaming rivers of shades, icy and razor as glass shards, rushed towards him and surrounded him in a whirlpool.  
  
A faraway voice called questioningly his name.  
  
He struggled to contain it, wish it away, but it was hopeless. His will force didn't manage hold it back and put up a new dam. Thus he was ruthlessly assailed for thousands of remembrances, doubts, fears, regrets and shames. Darkness tainted his vision, crumbled the foundations of decency and determination had built him into the man he was, and mocked of them. Strange and horrid mirages carved and flayed every inch of his hide, and the blood fueled the maelstrom. He cried, yelled and begged stop it.  
  
A faraway voice shouted repeatedly his name, no longer concerned but genuinely frightened.  
  
He ignored it, barely a gust in the hurricane. In the physical world his stunned body curled in fetal position, shaken for fretful shudders. His eyes were sunken and glazed over. "I don't remember. I mustn't remember. I can't remember. I don't want remember." He babbled unceasingly with deranged voice.  
  
In his mind he was drowning in a pool of blackness was suffocating him slowly. In front of him rose a giant bulk, a mass immense like a planet chased away the light, and with a vaguely human-like shape he recognized of his blurry nightmares. Its blue-lipped mouth twisted with a devilish smirk, and its blood-red single eye glimmered while its chuckles echoed with the loudness of the thunder.  
  
Its claw lowered towards him to entrap him within its hook-like grip. Scott screamed, asking help.  
  
A spear of burning light, glowing and jagged as a fork of lightning, pierced the gigantic hand with unheard-of violence. It exploded in a gory shower of blood and flesh.  
  
A rampaging Phoenix flared with a war cry in the Scott's mind, and the darkness receded and recoiled hissing in behold of it. The firebird swooped down, skimming the surface of the whirlpool, and reached to Scott. He looked up, blinded for a dazzling glow didn't impede him see to Jean in the heart of the blazes.  
  
Jean, help me, please  
  
Of course, darling She took his hand and hauled him out. Jean cradled him in her chest with a wing while she used the other to smite to the figure with powerful flaps that generated an irresistible wind.  
  
Don't leave me ever He pleaded, buried on her, feeling the black slippery slime still clinging to his self.  
  
Of course not. Don't get frightened of that thing. It can't hurt you anymore Entwining her telepathy with her telekinesis she plunged a beam towards the sizzling shadows, dissolving them and sweeping them away. See? I can chase away the shadows and return your mind to you. I shan't permit anybody makes you harm or gives grief. I promised it, and my word is my bound. Rest assured of it  
  
With that sentence they shared a kiss in both the mindscape and the physical world. Meanwhile the Phoenix blasted twin laser beams from its eyes and unleashed a blistering tongue of psychic fire from its beak. The attacks struck head-on to the monster, and it perished and vanished with a shrill of death.  
  
Scott blinked, awakening to the awareness. He was slumped over the Jean's lap, who rocked him soothingly like a panicked child.  
  
"Easy, darling. All is right now." She reassured him. Afterwards she turned to look ahead, leveling to all with a heated glare. "Sure I hope you're glad now. You almost have pushed to Scott in a catatonic seizure."  
  
The crowd circling the table had the decency of looking ashamed. Mildly placated with their peevish, flustered faces, Jean plopped back on her own chair, folding her arms at breasts level. Her manners and stance resembled the ones of a wild animal, a predator, cornered but willing fighting. Restrained but on the brink of bolting to attack.  
  
"Do you want the truth? Well, this is the truth: Yes, it's right. I altered the reality. This world is what I chose to be." She snarled scornfully. "Then the Professor has realized of it, hasn't he?" Nathan and Rachel nodded mutely. She averted down her look, studying the floorboards. "He also might mind in his own business, instead of poking his nose in mine ones."  
  
"Jean! He's our-"  
  
She cut off his tirade swiftly. "No, Scott. We aren't his business anymore." With a frown, Jean looked again to the ones gathered below her roof. "The part I'd like knowing is what do you want make about it?"  
  
Rachel had the weird sensation of an eagle or hawk opening the beak, swelling its body and spreading its wings to seem bigger and more dangerous. A defensive trick quite usual among birds.  
  
"Before of answering, Redd" Nathan stated with a fluid calm would seem impossible in the rarefied and strained atmosphere. "I want listening your version. Why are you doing this?"  
  
The words were picked on purpose to echo the ones he spelled out in other radically different moment. They were meant to show he remembered and was serious.  
  
Jean blinked, nonplused. One second later she had sprung up and slammed both hands on the table. The crockery trembled, and coffee spilled on the varnished wood. "Look our lives now, Nate, and think over our lives before. What do you think I did that for? I'll give you one wild guess. Go ahead."  
  
Now was the Nathan's turn for being rendered wordless. "For that you turned on Xavier and back-stabbed to the X-Men? To give us a new life?"  
  
"YES, DAMN IT!" She bellowed to the top of her lungs. "What have we got after years of fruitless conflict? Exhaustion, heartbreaking, loss, all duly sprinkled with bitter tears. And I was sick of it. SICK. I wanted knowing what was like living without being hurt inside and outside. I hated seeing to Scott wounded and torn, and I loathed the way we were drifting apart. I was fed up of seeing to my children stranded on the time, worn for the time, living a continued war since their births. I wanted we could gather us and speak without the grief and the guilt getting in the way. I wanted fancying we were happy, and achieving it. Am I so awful for it?"  
  
The last outburst of Jean reverberated on the atmosphere long time, and nobody spoke anything while she puffed slowly. Scott was busy assimilating the new development and the Summers siblings exchanged glances. Franklin, who was the only unaware of the real facts, remained quiet and frowning.  
  
Domino was boldest and quickest than the rest in talking aloud. "I'm sorry, Jean, but I don't buy you can make better the world like this without side-effects. Always there's a catch. Always. Besides" She scowled "you took away any said I could have got on the matter ever. You altered the time only because you disliked it, without giving a damn for the someone else's feelings."  
  
Jean held unyieldingly, unflinchingly her harsh stare. "I know why you are protesting, Domino. You are the only person in this room capable of telling me that without looking an utter hypocrite."  
  
Nathan, Rachel and Franklin shifted nervously on their chairs. Phoenix was right. They couldn't criticize her. They had acted likewise when the opportunity presented to itself.  
  
"For fucking God's sake!" She screeched "Is it so difficult of understanding? I LOVE YOU! Is it so disgusting or awful? I love to all of you and loathed see you suffering!" Impulsively Jean hopped back onto the Scott lap and hugged him with excruciating fervor, as if he was a fleeting mirage and she feared he'd vanish at any moment. Her panic unsettled to Scott, who embraced her back, smooching the top of her head. "I could set the things straight and I did so, damn it!"  
  
Her last words were a choked sob.  
  
Franklin, who had stood still all along, entwined his fingers with his fiancée's ones, and squeezed tenderly. "I understand." He shook his head. "I can't judge her harshly. After all I did the same stuff when I arrived to this timeline from my hellish home time. I yearned for calm, stability, the things were how they were meant to be. And I could get them with a mere wish. Thus I changed it without a care."  
  
Rachel pecked him lovingly, and he rubbed gingerly his cheek. Nathan spared him a glance and stared again at his mother.  
  
"But what exactly was what you did?" He inquired.  
  
Jean sighed and sat back on her improvised couch, leaning on her husband's thorax. Her fingers combed idly her fiery locks while she spoke. "It's very simple. I traveled back to one specific branch point on the timeline and I began to modify the reality according what it could have been since then. I cropped and nurtured the timeline I wanted, pruning the unwanted or rotten twigs and taking care always it grew where I intended. But it wasn't really a time travel. Rather altering the time you can say I warped the reality in the current present, and the past changed along with it. Never mind. It's too twisted." She groaned, kneading her temples with the fingertips. Cosmic dynamics always gave her such migraine.  
  
"I thought time trip to the beginning, when only the Original Five existed, but there were too factors to be accounted of, and it could go out of hand easily, so I chose a temporal nexus nearer in the time. I found right away one with possibilities: the battle against Apocalypse on the Moon."  
  
Scott frowned thoughtfully. He hadn't exactly recalled everything, but he was now partially aware of what should have happened. He now distinguished memories from reality, and they matched flawlessly before that event. He had believed so far that Jean and he had teamed up to slaughter to the bastard with a combined effort, saving to his son. However he remembered now the foul virus crawling up his baby's arm, transforming quickly his flesh in metal, and a weird woman turning up and assuring being able of healing him. Cable had shown him what would have happened to Nathan Christopher following that path.  
  
"Scott and I prevented that dick-sucker asshole gave the T-O virus to Nathan, and then we killed him. I took painstakingly care in erase him off from our timeline. His loathsome body was carbonized and disintegrated at atomic level, and his filthy and stinky soul incinerated in a psychic pyre. The fetid scum never again resurrected." She muttered darkly, fearfully. "Hence Rachel never traveled to the thirty-eighth century, neither founded the Askani Clan. But I refused to lose the child Scott and I had brought up in the future, thus I established to Nathan like a temporal anomaly. The future where he came from became an unreal shade long before of The Gathering, which never happened. That was all."  
  
"You were enough nice to get to Stryfe and the Legacy out of the picture too."  
  
"Thanks, kid. It was the first step, but it brought about other aftermath. In the wake of the battle Scott was afraid of losing to Nathan the next time, scared of not giving him the care and love he needed. Now you see wasn't hard convince him of taking a leave after of the merge of X-Men and X-Factor in Muir."  
  
Suddenly she noticed Scott stiffening behind. "And then you made sure that leave was permanent."  
  
"I DID cut the strings off, Scott. You were in a leash, held by Xavier since years ago. I wanted you free from everybody. Even from me!" She rebuked with a despaired fury shocked to everyone.  
  
That anguish lacing her voice and sparking her temper baffled him instantly. "You? But honey-"  
  
"Shut up, Scott! I'm sick and tired and revolted of seeing to people pulling your strings since your fifteenth birthday. I didn't bear anymore seeing you played around and controlled for other people. I blame to Charles for it, but that shit started with Sinister. I wanted you CHOSE stay with me, no manipulate you in wishing it. I want your love granted freely." She paused, her fury abruptly put off. "If I haven't it, I want nothing."  
  
It sounded immensely sad. So sad. Scott squeezed her in his embrace, trembling with powerful emotion. "With each year I was more unsure of returning. I never believed I'd see the day of not wanting confronting villains or lead to the X-Men in one war. It felt nice the change, living for ourselves."  
  
"Of course. I led the timeline to fulfill the Dream. I spoiled the major plots of the villains and erased off the main bouts and battles we endured. Since there weren't major troubles or hardships required your leadership and the things went well, you weren't feeling guilty for pursuing your own dream, for living your life. Besides, I used my powers to heal your brain damage. You weren't prisoner of your mutation anymore. Just like I said, I cut the strings. Then we could have the baby we hoped" She beamed at Rachel.  
  
Franklin lifted one hand. He was the only in the room ignored the real events, and that situation handicapped him disturbingly. "But my ghost traveled to the afterlife before of that battle, right?"  
  
Jean blushed. "Right. I'm sorry, but that was my personal touch. I'd seen what had transpired between Rachel and you and was sad of your fate. So then I... searched your soul, called it, rebuilt a body to link it, fed it with enough life-force to last until your own powers kicked, and tied your spirit to the physical realm. You didn't know anything of this timeline so you weren't liable to breed doubts. And if you wondered why you were alive again, it'd be easily attributed to be a Richards in love with a Summers. Weirdness is expected follow after you."  
  
Rachel was about of inquiring something else when the door opened violently with a loud bang. The young Nate Summers stormed into the kitchen, holding to the giggling toddler Rachel in his arms and with a husky cub trotting behind him, sheer haste and eagerness driving him. Though reluctance and shock braked his hurry as soon as he spotted to the guests. His eyes bulged at once his cheeks flushed. His piercing blue eyes peered dubiously at the sturdy and well-built man he could have become and the scarred woman could have been his sister, and he turned to his parents.  
  
"Hi, dad. Hi, mom. Hi to everyone. Had you seen the big plane out?"  
  
"Is because that you're so hectic, boy?" Nathan interrupted. "That is the mine. You shouldn't get scared-"  
  
"No... Big brother, it isn't" Nate shook his head in denial, and with a bit of disappointment. Never he managed keep the catch out of his voice when talked with him. "It's the Blackbird. It's hovering on the air, in front of home, in... in..."  
  
A worried frown wrinkled the ivory Domino's face. "In stand-off" She supplied, somewhat troubled.  
  
Rachel squealed, over-thrilled "Yes! A big, black plane! I LIKE the planes!" Her little black-and-white dog barked in agreement, fanning its tail.  
  
Scott looked less willing. He blanched, progressively more nervous and uneasy. A weight had nestled on his stomach. Smiling artificially, he placed his hand on his son's shoulder.  
  
"Thanks for warning, Nate. Now would you mind go upstairs with your sister?" He smiled tightly. "Sure they want talking with us of grownup things. And you know how boring they can be."  
  
Nate quirked a brow, clearly sensing his queasiness, and no believing the cheap excuse offered. He sensed clearly something was amiss, but he couldn't do anything about it. Deciding trust in the adults, he nodded and headed to his room. In his thoughts he prayed for nothing bad happened to his family.  
  
Meanwhile Cyclops was shaking, quivering with the fear stabbing and twisting in his underbelly. "They are coming for Jean. And they want me too. I-" He shuddered, shutting his eyes. "I can't return to that. No now. I can't live like that anymore, or going through my life in the original reality. I can't do it longer."  
  
Jean rotated her body 180 degrees, facing him with her merciful emerald eyes and hugged him. Warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, Scott. I shan't permit them take you away again. NOBODY will hurt again ever."  
  
Do you promise?  
  
Of course. I swore you I'd make happy. Do you remember? For that I'm doing this  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
As soon as the Blackbird had reached the place, the X-Men rushed out of the flight as a tide. While they exited, fell automatically in battle formation, even though they intended, ironically, pretending no belligerency. In the middle of it was the Professor Xavier, and at both sides every the members, regular or not. Storm, Wolverine, Rogue, Gambit, Archangel, Beast, Psylocke, Havok, Polaris, Colossus, Shadowcat, Nightcrawler, Iceman with the White Queen, Jubilee, Banshee, Forge.  
  
Everyone ready to whatever and at once unsure of what expecting.  
  
The door of the cottage whirled open with ominous parsimony. Jean stepped out of it, giving them a cursory glare. The flour smudging her hair and face didn't deter at the slightest the effect of that enraged leer. Scott came after of her, chewing his lip. Cable trudged out with Phoenix II in tow, earning some suspicious glares and distrustful peers. Franklin and Domino emerged out the last ones, the former with a thoroughly grim expression and the latter moving with studied nonchalance and coldness.  
  
Jean stopped ten meters from them and crouched in a challenging stance, clenched fists and legs shaping an isosceles triangle. Her smoldering emerald eyes looked over balefully at the entire congregation.  
  
"What do you want?" She queried with a low and incongruously soft voice. It sounded incredibly fake.  
  
Xavier motored forward, but a raised hand halted him. He obliged her, prudently. "I must ask you a question, Jean. Have you thieved our power and changed the reality with it?"  
  
Her eyelashes fluttered. "Yes. So what?" Mild words, but the poison in them was undeniable.  
  
Xavier glanced furiously to the Jean's kids, but they ignored his piercing eyes and his delicate telepathic probes or protests. They did know he didn't alert them intending they warned her beforehand, but they didn't matter it. They had obeyed to their instincts and consciences, and their respective Scott and Jean had taught them to no apologize ever for it.  
  
"We came to ask you return the world to its former state. Please."  
  
"No. You can go now. I'd offer pancakes, but I haven't enough food. Good-bye."  
  
She didn't elaborate. Just a flat, off-hand statement. Just a sentence, bleak but seeping venom and restrained anger. No denial, explanation or beg. Xavier breathed deeply, invoking his self-control.  
  
"Tampering with the universe is one thing very dangerous to do, Jean-"  
  
"Don't patronize me, 'Professor'!" She snapped. Years had passed and he kept on treating her as a naive-  
  
"And very risky. Sincerely we have come to try convincing you of it. You have to put the world back before you make some irreversible damage to the continuum-"  
  
"And how would you know? Who has died and appointed you guardian of the continuum?" She bristled, feeling outraged. Abruptly a dark and evil smirk replaced her hostile glare. Her old friends shuddered and braced to receive the blow. "What is the matter, Professor? Are you so disgusted of no having vented in this dimension? Or annoyed for having lost your chance to come out? I'd think was far better believing the X-traitor was Sabretooth. After all, one betrayal of him was practically expected, right? Don't you like the convenient scapegoat?"  
  
Xavier blanched, utterly pale. She smiled with certain bleakness.  
  
To guarantee the presence of Bishop she had varied greatly the events from Onslaught to Operation: Zero Tolerance. Magneto never was bothered by the Acolytes or accepted their pleads. Xavier never mindwiped him. Meanwhile they had integrated with reserves to Creed in the team. Later, during the presidential campaign Bastion had shot to Graydon Creed to light up the fuse of the anti-mutant hysteria. When he and his Prime Sentinels laid siege on the mansion, the feral mutant double-crossed to the X-Men to save his hide. And Rogue sent the badly recorded message Bishop read in his time.  
  
Xavier was beaten temporarily, but others weren't. Betsy strode forward and stretched out her arm. Purple flares flashed, and her hand brandished a katana of psychic power, with the sharp edge aiming to her.  
  
"You are controlling us like fucking puppets, Jean! How did you dare to plan my life for me?"  
  
"Elisabeth is right. No one can be trusted with that kind of power. And you have certainly proved that beyond any doubt in the past. Or are you going senile on your old age?" Emma stated. The X-Men recoiled behind of her. Everyone imagined was probably very unwise Emma criticized to Jean.  
  
A telekinetic jab on the midsection doubled her over. Bobby was instantly for her side while she spat a blot of bile.  
  
"You better thank I didn't leave you stuck in a coma, you filthy, horny, cock-sucking, home-wrecker, sneaky viper!" She roared. "By the way, whether you were planning reproach me for your relationship with Bobby, it isn't my doing. I wasn't intending it happened, mainly because I DO think he can do it better. I'll NOT accept someone blames me for his or her OWN choices." She sniggered when Emma and Bobby blushed. "And regarding you, Betsy, if I were you, I wouldn't protest for not having lusted after my husband, not having been gutted by Sabretooth, and not being dead. Breathe is so grave of an inconvenient to you?"  
  
The blazing sword winked off instantly, and the British ninja staggered backwards, cowed and frightened. She covered her mouth with the hands. And when Warren held her writhing, quavering body with his protective arms and sheltering wings, she thanked it.  
  
Until then nobody had caught on the full implications of the power Phoenix held. But now they realized some were breathing because she had chosen so. She could decide between life and death.  
  
Phoenix spread widely her arms. "Gambit, you weren't court-martialed in the Antarctica because you explained us right away your old sin. Rogue, you can touch and love freely. Bobby, you have mastered your full potential. Hank, you haven't suffered the impotence of seeing the Legacy blighting and snuffing out lives. Piotr, your sister lives. Sean, you haven't lost to Moira. Logan, you got married with Mariko. Regrettably I couldn't save your wings, Warren, but you and Betsy can meditate freely whether continuing your romance or not. Alex and Lorna, you live peacefully, and haven't been screwed over and over. And above all, the world doesn't fear us and hate us SO much. This reality can be no perfect, but all in all is pretty better than the former!"  
  
"Is it wrong wish or DREAM for happiness? No, I didn't think so. If you have power to obtain it: is wrong use it? Or would be it irresponsible?" She questioned to all. "If the answer is 'yes', we are a bunch of fucking hypocrites."  
  
"But Jean" interjected Hank "This isn't real. It's merely a construct, an illusion you arranged by artificial means-"  
  
"It IS real, Hank. Can't it get in your currently thick skull? I can WARP the reality, gamble with it and mold it. It's real because I DID it being. Why can't you accept a good thing when it comes for once? It's so hard?"  
  
Xavier, now less flabbergasted and mellower, coughed twice to resume their sparring in words and wits. "We are worried because experience teaches nothing is as good as it seems. There aren't easy and quick solutions to the troubles, Jean. You -we- can think our troubles are solved, but we don't know when the proverbial other shoe can drop, over who it will fall, or how much strong it shall be-"  
  
"What if it DOESN'T drop, Charles? Has your mind posed it ever? You used to hope always for the best!" Suddenly flames of ire boiled within her to rush outwards, startling her when she realized of it. Closing her eyes she squelched them down, furthest down, controlling and mastering her emotions right how Scott had taught her. Then she opened her eyes. Glaring, glowering slits of green blazes. "This issue isn't open to debate, discussion or negotiation, Professor. If you want me stopping, force me to it."  
  
Her clothes exploded in flares, and coalesced in the Dark Phoenix outfit. They backed down.  
  
Except the Professor. He was eyeing at his second student. "Scott?"  
  
He had remained still and silent during the entire ordeal. Reflecting, pondering. Being addressed to, Scott looked up, and the X-Men flinched. Without the visor, he was displaying the shutters he deployed to mask his emotions. And his aloof and unreadable visage was unsettling. Then he strode to her wife, and laying his hands around her waist whirled her ninety degrees, kissing her fervently. Scott hugged her with crushing, passion-born force and stroked her body with adoration. Then he looked sideways to his ex-partners. They were bulged-eyed. His mentor, though, didn't show further reaction than blinking.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I can't do what you want me. You-you don't know what was like Apocalypse dwelling in my head. I merely get glimpses, sketches, and wouldn't wish it to the Doctor Doom. I can't go through it again, emptied of hopes, joys or illusions." His voice was next to cracked and desperate, but steel was blending progressively in it. "And a stuff I learnt out of that mess is that I can't be the perfect leader. The righteous, abnegated and reliable boy-scout. I can't return to that mask anymore."  
  
"Independent thought" Jean meowed huskily in his ear, while her tongue gave to the earlobe a swift lick. "You're so sexy when express your opinions, whether they may piss off me or not."  
  
"And" he went on "I've hurt too much and too many times to my Jean. I can't and shan't do it again."  
  
Nathan and Rachel looked at each other with matching stares. Their eyes reflected their emotions were in silent agreement. After of a brisk telepathic exchange, Nathan walked forwards and stood among his parents and the X-Men. "Slymm and Redd have done their choice. Leave them alone right now."  
  
Phoenix mirrored his actions, motioning beside him. "Hurt to dad and mom? Over my telekinetic CORPSE!"  
  
The irony was missed in the heat of the moment.  
  
Franklin stepped beside her. "She can fend off on her own, but the first one in even brushing one hair of her red head will be cruising out of the solar system!" He spat.  
  
Domino clicked off the safety of her plasma rifle, and flexed her legs on a crouch. "I'm not exactly okay with this shit, but I'll not let anybody touches to Nate. And that's final!"  
  
An uncomfortable ripple of hesitation spread as a tide along the crowd. Domino could contend physically with the best of them, Cable and Rachel could move from atoms to planets and Franklin Richards could simply wish them off the existence. Or reduce them to their subatomic particles. Even with all the vast power and extraordinary skill of the X-Men, this wasn't a clash they wanted engaging in willingly.  
  
"Children, children" The scolding, lightly mocking voice of Jean focused in her the all's stares. She was wiggling a finger as a mother got used to reprimand to their naughty children. "There's no need for fights."  
  
"Because like I said previously" She raised upwards one hand gloved in gold, stretching fully her arm.  
  
"This issue isn't open to argument" Her fingers snapped together with a click.  
  
And reality shuddered, before suffering an abrupt jolt.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Long hours had passed since then. Dusk came, and the starry night covered Alaska with its black blanket.  
  
Cable and Domino had flown away to crash the PACRAT in the middle of nowhere, according to the textual words of the raven-haired mercenary, and Franklin and Rachel were back in the university. Nate and Ray had been nagged in the bed and tucked in two hours ago.  
  
And right now both spouses enjoyed of a shower together before going to bed and lying down. While the water was drenching their bodies and washing over the dirtiness and the soreness, Scott was squashing to her redhead bride between the wall and himself, and kissing her senselessly while his hands explored her writhing, quivering body with thorough eagerness and expertise. Apparently he had decided he wasn't being enough passionate and loving with Jean, and was taking steps to solve that negligence.  
  
Jean wasn't complaining.  
  
While he subdued her, his own pleasure was sullied with chagrin. Tormenting guilt and awful regret was eating him live with shame and killing him with angst. Jean protected and shielded his mind of unpleasant remembrances, but he received still flashes, blurred drafts of the 'real' world, and was sickened thinking the life he had led. Or that others had led in his name. The weighed dam of Apocalypse's memories was held at bay, but he recalled what they had done him and how he had dealt with that. He retched thinking incredulously what he had done and with WHO. The White Queen. Ugh.  
  
He had to make up it with Jean. He had to be better for her, a better husband and father, more hard-working and more considerate to be worthy of her.  
  
A fist smacked his head and a voice ringed in his mind. Jean barely could gasp and moan even, let alone speak, but she had sensed her thoughts Scott, you haven't to do anything. Only love me. I'll always love you unconditionally, not matter what. You thinking otherwise was that led to that mess  
  
He kept quiet as his hands traveled to nether regions. Won't they recall anything then?  
  
No She squealed abruptly. God, the things the man could do with his hands, lips and tongue. She relished in the flowing sensations, banishing her bleak tiredness. Xavier was like a father to you and me, Scott, but if you realize... we, our family, have been nothing but tools. Toy soldiers in the someone else's war, like characters of a fucking videogame. Fully tied to the commands of the player who sent us to use our skills to beat the bad guy or slay the monster for him. And I'm so tired of being used...  
  
Me too He acknowledged. A lingering residue of the damage Nur had inflicted upon him. But as nice and good as this is, Jean, they got a point He mumbled softly on her head, attacking her simultaneously with his frantic fingers. Perhaps you aren't so in control like you'd like believing  
  
Perhaps She admitted, panting. But if there're troubles I want we stand and go through it together  
  
I wouldn't get it otherwise He sent back, probing her and stimulating her until he knew she was on the brink. "I love you" He breathed.  
  
"I love you" She wheezed while he pleased her. Then he drove her in the heaven.  
  
*********************************************************************************  
  
Yes, this is the end. I sure hope the history has liked and it didn't turned out to be boring. I loved write it, even though it can improve greatly in my opinion. Please, pass me a note or comment. Although it be two lines alone. Even if it's for criticize it, AS it's constructive critic.  
  
Theoretically this is done according my plan, but while I typed the chapters I realized this alternate world included possibilities, many stuff I'd have preferred seeing in the official series. Actually I've thought of a possible sequel, titled 'Blood Ties: Fatal Attractions' -obviously the reference to those two crossovers is intentioned-. It would feature not only the X-Men but also more Marvel Heroes. Still it would be in the future since I'm writing more tales. However if you want seeing that series written down, developing that AU, tell me it. And feel free to ask questions or state suggestions. They will duly taken into account. Meanwhile you can look for my other stories. Perhaps you like them.  
  
Thanks for reading me and good-bye! And please, feedback! 


End file.
